pollyworts seething amid fanciful dreams. Trite lemonesque faeries dance amid toothsome quarrels.

From there the road stretches wider than it was long. Stiff as a cane, the crane steps leg by leg traversing the crowned dirt mound.

And the mines, they shine, oh they shine as if the gold they bear rode them like nymphs.

The centaurs creep from the south, rippling torsos sprouting like weeds from beautiful steeds.

The witch trials may end, but no one fancies that. They expected the Inquisition, the pundits say. The dandelions speak rare truths and sometimes form a wine rarely heard.

And the stench is difficult to bear. We wake with it and it is us.

Red eyes blinking and all. Crusty threesome across the wall I shut my door.

I wash my filthy sheets to discover a nickel.