doodle

there is a line invisibly drawn from the tip of my nose to the tip of your head. on the line there hang two old pants, a lacy bra, and my mother's old pajamas which i've not been wearing lately because you're allergic to hemp. these things are pegged with the beaks of golden chickens. laying eggs from dusk til dawn the chickens cluck away endlessly and eventually lose their beaks, which are then carefully picked up by dwarves but only from the hours of three fifteen to four sixteen in the morning. this is because at this time the constellation of orion is well hidden, and as everybody knows dwarves are scared witless of hunting dogs. specially dalmatians, and what else could they be up there glittering and shining away over the line. the line between the top of your head and the tip of my nose. which one day a spider will unravel and then you'll go this way and i'll go over there. just a little to the left.