Sweven

Be a Dream
They find him, bits of battered bone and threads of scattered flesh. He is incomplete. Earth slips. Chest implodes. Words thin and wither. Within the gutted hollows of the husk I have become, are echoes. "This must be a dream. Must be a dream. Be a dream. Be a dream. Be a dream..."

Ice Palace
Her house is an iceberg in the midst of the sand. No entry. No exit. No hope. Bloodied hands punch, claw, and rip but I am unable to make a dent or get a grip on anything at all. Out of reach, through glass patches of ice, half frozen children are weeping. Sleet slips from their eyes.

Waterly
Pencils slip. Pages flip. Inspiration flows like spring swept springs. Then watercolors run wild. All artistry is defiled.

Vehicle
Tires and steering wheel disagree. Even with extra hands and webs of rope I can not claim my space, so surrender. I swerve away. Soon I bring up the rear of a family line. We plod pitted roads. Car begets quad, quad begets cardboard box cut to be a car. I carry it, this flimsy thing, that should rightly carry me. Still I carry on, and on, and on.