His head was a venetian vase.
He was a kitten cub and a box of snow.
His snout fell off like Winnie the Pooh’s even though Pooh’s snout
never fell off.
His house was full of animalosity.
Before he could answer to the name Lotus he slept for a thousand years.
He found a knitted girl and named her Sirap which was short for Abracadabra.
The gown he wore was magic.
The way he flew over the city caused squeaks and leptons.
Cows and snoopies began to cry for more.
A rolodex began. Or a roller derby. Or something that started with r followed
Red rovers and gorgeous men lined up against the lines and shouted.
Never before had anyone smelled so much sulphur (Glinda).
His toes curled toward his heart like fractals.
His toes curled toward the sky like inverted wings.
His eyelashes curled toward earth as his rocket blasted.
He flew in a cummerbund. Sound dissolved as he entered it.
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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 29 | Summer 2010