The portal to our imagination

is a big, red door

and on paper wings

we embark on a journey,


through the channels

of our potential.


Behind the door?

cordial creatures,

others most obnoxious,

beasts darting by,

matchstick men

hop along with a sigh.


Onward, onward towards

a volcano of red,

the swirling fires

of the hottest stream,

sizzling and ablaze.


A Chanel-clad Kloe

sprints at a lick

her glorious fingernails



Onward, onward

the boom of a roaring rocket

bursting towards

the boundaries of space.

Steve the robot

who blurts ‘he-llo’,

the lost astronaut

who’s, Sh! gone with the flow.


Onward, onward

to the final room.

The resounding relief

on hearing a guitar

serenading the cerulean sky,

hovering on a cloud,

floating on high,

time to shut each door

and bid the day goodbye.


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