the table grew fruit.

the heat of the earth dissipates as cool desert night descends

loud illogical people.

cars on the freeway are like a school of fish, and the police car that passes by is like a shark that had its meal and it wasn't you.

a graveyard where flowers grow.

too many doorsteps.  not one of them home.

I've come to realize that witches in fairytales are just misunderstood single businesswomen.