Was it a dog that barked at the moon or a fish riding a bicycle? Choices are plenty, like picking beans in a strange, humorous dream where every other thought walks a crooked line.
Sometimes I think about snails in space, wearing tiny helmets and pondering life on earth. One even had an existential crisis; it came to a conclusion that it was simply a shell-less dream. Other days, it prefers a latte over cosmic ramen tones.
In the age of cherry puffs and jellybean rulers, one must ask: who draws the mustaches on the clouds? Surely they’ve lost theirs among the fleeting echoes. If you listen carefully, you can hear the other side where reality adjusts its hat and winks at you.
If laughter could cure shadows, I’d spend my days teaching moles to dance the tango. Each step would echo like fractured candy in a bag of old hopes. Still, if you ask, what’s the wind’s favorite joke? Ask here for cosmic answers.