Putrefying Limp Sausage Fossilized in Thick Virgin Molasses, Bellville – 44

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already soft and turning gray with rot, the putrefying limp sausage hangs lifeless when the first thick beads of virgin molasses begin to weep from its ruined tip; the molasses is obscenely dense and golden-amber, sliding down the decaying shaft in slow heavy ropes that cling to every wrinkle and collapsed vein before cooling into rigid translucent bands; each dying twitch forces out another sluggish gout that piles onto the growing prison in gloopy layers, sealing the rotting meat tighter with every feeble spasm; over endless suffocating hours the molasses hardens completely into a solid amber cocoon, fossilizing the pathetic sausage alive in its final pose of untouched, glistening sexual obsolescence