Woke up with a mustache. Try shouting in a straight line. Golden clover, grassy calf. Dwarves with my name on them. Southern vines, pyramid carvings made with delicate hands under a tropic sun as reaction to sunburn. She likes to read about the small people. Work dissolves. The wrong kind of order. Orchard slowly loses its breath to a branch grown down. A man and his boat cut across the main avenue on a tidal wave. Dim caravans. A curtain conceals landscape only. Billows half-baked tone. Cranial mountain-stains around its edges.