a good one,
with acrobatic knights and archers lancing 
cupcakes full of candy rain. Dogs had tongues
like streets-sweepers, properly fed they slept happy.
It was a victory dream. 
Nobody lied. No tears were shed. 
The dogs lived the longest of all 
and there was naught a cat to take the blanket. 
The sun and her spectators clapped wildly
whistling blades of grass between long fingers 
until the moon grew jealous and picked up 
a pair of bongos. I know not how to wake up 

from this dream, having made it whilst awake at my desk, 
and so I dare to keep my eyes open and continue.  

Rozell, 2021.

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