Inspired by Insomnia

Last night I dreamed I ate my pillow. In the morning my ten pound marshmallow was gone.

In Defense of Hyperbole

I often dream of my
wikipedia page. Which will
undoubtedly say something vague
and pretentious like,
"While he began calling himself
a writer at the age of twenty three,
he never read or wrote anything substantial
until long after his death
at the age of ninety six.

"He is survived by his wives,
each more glamorous and pretentious
than the previous, and his dog,
Franklin Fitzgerald Kane, also a
writer, and his nine children,
each of whom star on the reigning
NBA champion, and pilot space vehicles in
their collective spare time."

I wake up with a smile
(Nine kids, any Catholic would!)
mostly at worlds of possibility.