Here is the horn of plaster, melted cheeses sleeking under it, the skies condensed to milkwhite weather fronts. His kidseye scarlet guards a territory where a boomerang explodes on dreamtime canvas. Striped horizons take the sun in sluices.
Wings disintegrate to spice, their runnels pattering through blonddrenched latticework.
A curdled bush of blood splays jungled birds. One reaches out and bends into an angled ghost. Banana hunger chomps away at winesoaked fabric. A pair of breasts explode like eyeballs from a gnome's besmelted face. Punchinello grins break out of the fabric.