A line of men getting progressively smaller
The last one has toadstools instead of wolf like ears.
I read the tombstone face with a thermometer candle
This went out when it reached 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit.
The lady I met in the flying submarine half smiled
The light bulbs in her necklace lit one by one.
I crouch on coprolites with a stepladder on my knees
The iceberg at the top had just caught on fire.
The moray eel in a hot air balloon prays to the ground
Grey clouds form the shape a braking articulated lorry.
I push my head through a crumbling sand clock
The rest of the merman’s body is trapped inside.