Joe awoke, yes he did. Joe walked to the river and sat among the eggplant. He must collect seven, he knew. But seven was odd, as was the novelty toaster he had purchased at a garage sale in space. He was a sad man, which his art in fact reflected. No amounts of eggplants could do what he intended, but yet he continued to intend. The hat on his head was taller than the birdtree as wasn’t the one about which was he. Continued he was and the storm was free, terrorizing mountains. Mountains! Sleep it came.
No comments:
Post a Comment