The stain on the table looks like the face of a puppy.
Friends made at the lost kids tent.
Wish you were here! Just kidding…
A limerick about Shillelaghs and bunnies.
It’s water with a hole in it.
A slack handful of answers.
The typewriter knows what the shadow doesn’t.
Belief isn’t what it used to be.
We’re not all the same after all.
What are my children going to find in dusty boxes at the back of my closet after I die?
A world full of stinky thinking.
I haven’t figured out how this story ends just yet.