The dark corner of St. Peter's Basilica, where an abused child, all grown up, sat and wept openly for the first time.

A birthday party for orange. Held atop the empire state building.

An elephantine armillary sphere.

Sordid documentaries on the production of candy canes.

Questions regarding the veracity of the statements of trees.

Hamiltonian paths through the quarters of false millitaries.

Baton twirling in a hurricane, riding the back of an enormous dinosaur.

The trap door in the ceiling that leads to my love's demise, hanging open for the first time in my life.

I want an image of me with a bright green aura that lights up brighter when i'm learning. I want to put it into a dark room. An empty room. I want, someday, for a child to be drawn to a door, and to open it and be bathed in bright green light.
I want that boy to learn to fly.

The holiest object in the world is a baseball lost in a little league game in Wisconsin. It's still lodged between a broken down old pickup and the wall of an abandoned post office. A small bird is nesting on it. Next year, it will burn with the post office. That's unless the boy finds it. Pray he does. Pray hard that he does.

The wandering Wednesday that once a year, nobody knows when, switches the smells of things in pairs. When it happens, all other plans are cancelled, and people spend the day compiling in books as many pairs as they can. The person with the most pairs at the end of the day spends the next year with the ability to read the thoughts of angels, or so they say.

Imagine walking across a rainbow, thousands of feet above the earth, above even the air, seeing the stars in bright day, and looking down at an entire world in celebration, the millions upon millions of fireworks looking like thousands of people in procession, waving torches, and cheering for the final victory over human suffering. Leap off in joy.

A wall stands in my way. Bricks, laid even, the mortar as regular as train schedules. I want to pass. I need to pass. Happiness is on the other side, the life I've hoped for since I was a child, everything I've ever wanted, it's right over there, beyond those immaculate bricks. I look around for a tool and can find nothing. I need to break through. I experimentally punch the wall, and the pain makes me grab my fist to keep the weakness in. Desparate to break through, I kick and knee and elbow and check and tear my body to pieces, and the brick stays regular as metronomes. I stand back, and see my own silhouette in blood on the wall, every part of my body torn in the attempt. And I curl up on the ground and cry.

An invincible rose, lying forever on the only summit never to be attained by humanity.

An ounce of Stirling silver melted down to get to the chocolatey center.

Levitation above snow, on birthday of the world, holding a torch, and counting the stars.