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.