Candy Corn

The end. In the end, they started out on their journey. After all was said and done, he asked politely for a cookie. Yes, that would be splendid, he said. But I wasn’t offering you anything. No, of course not. I am lost in the spinning tops of sonic tantrums. Lacking a true bubble cup, I cannot, I dare never, I won’t. Only candy corn gets past the gestapo. Hah!

Hell

Hello. How can you stand there, looking at the blazing sheep flying across the sky? Do you count when you can’t sleep? Do you go towards the light? Do you wonder why? I don’t think the answer lies in the mouse string hat. Love is the cruel table crushing a tornado. You are the key tackle box in the stars. Come play me a miracle. Play me a doo-wop. Circus trains come close to bullet couches. Hell has no future. Yes, that is the last hefty hanky paddle!

Dynamo!

Happy tunes strum in the sky for us. Transform another trace of flying webmasters in the moonlight. Nothing comes of crowded fleas. Nothing in your drink. Nothing sitting here wondering what is the point of saying the top of it is falling? No, that is not what I’m saying. It all falls through the ever-present dynamo!

Close

Come with me, over the penal clay. Penelope, do you still think of me? No, not me. It was the only dream he had. It was the thing he thought smoothly. Iron hands clamping down. Iron eyes staring at you. Are you clean? No, not sanitary. Not Covid. Not that. I know you’re not. come with me to the barn. That is a chicken. You are a cow. You are the queen. Stop it. Start running. I won’t say where. Close.

Yes. No.

Climb up a pole. No, there isn’t any place you can go. Show me. That is absurd. I am not the musketeer. No, you are not. I have a break to balance, do you? Yes, you are the one. I have always thought fondly of them. Think! How do you want me to say that? You are the same as anyone. Yes, you are. Come, go on a trip with me. Babble on. Babble. On. Yes. No. Yes. Yes.