A rose in
a dandelion of water.

A fairy sleeping in
the handle of a tea cup.

Her straw hat casting
rain drop shadows.

She tosses and turns
like she’s in a hammock.

She frowns with her
aurora borealis hair.

Her dress of tv static
blows in the wind.

The tablecloth of armor
claps as you sit down.

Inspirational quotes written
in blue on the tea cup.

She has never read them.

You can’t read them either.

She was a little girl
with star prints all over her
long wavy hair.

The words
tattooed all over her skin
were nonsense.

Her storybook was
the size of her roof.

The only thing
holding everything together
was her imagination.

The older she
got everything faded
or became tiny.

Star prints turned
to ashes in her gray hair.

Her storybook
was as tiny as
a piece of rice.

Everyone could
read the words
tattooed on her skin.

So everything
became way too hidden.

Yet imagination
was still somewhere
deep inside.

She just has to
fight all the aura of
the horror harder.

The giraffe walking
through the sand.

He’s trying not to sink.

He blows out  

bubblegum that
looks like jellyfish.

He caught
a dreadful sight.

A snake
strangling a starfish.

He wanted to
do something for it.

Instead he just
stood there like
a mast on a ship.

An ocean wave
swallowed the
starfish and snake
like a vitamin.

Later when the
giraffe was sleeping
the starfish crawled up
and down his back.

The back of a
turtle is a
dream catcher.

The biggest I’ve
ever seen.

There are no
holes in it.

So the dreams
cannot get out.

Cobweb carving
on his back.

The turtle walks
in its sleep.

His head and
legs like cactus.

He spins
through the sand.

He feels like
a skipped rock.

The wind
will not mock.