Mouldy Mud

I once stepped through the film of unconscious and emerged in a strange land. Mud hills stretched on either side of me and the stench of undead pork rang against my nose hairs. I met my long lost step mother and asked her about father - she said she don't care. I tended the lopsided fields as she guided the pigs away, for six thousand years, until the horizon was empty, I stayed. I found no potatoes, but in the mud I discovered mould, purple, white and green with flecks of gold. My fingers rubbed against the grime and the horizon opened its mouth. It called my father's name and before I knew it I was on the way, toward motorways and between the cars, I streamed over oceans aimed at continents beyond. I arrived before my breath could be fully taken by the scenic sonic travel; I found old friends and we had a mission. We were sent underground and found streams toward a new ocean. After we laughed, it became true that the mission was false. Off to lunch we went, grumbling from out bellies - our parents a long time ago we forgot.