7 from J.D

laugh it up, foosball

pudder + glump = I rule the voltage

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square burdocktopus root

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hum, ziggurat, hum

UR my sunshine

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nibbānana

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mr. egg

(I am
reptile)

(I am
phibian)

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magic marker

snow pie
bean pie—

roux

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sknowmanx

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J. D. Nelson

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“Really?” John Smith said to his knee that had decided to hurt. A lot!
“Really” said the knee.
“Why?”
The knee remained silent and aching. It was a stubborn knee.
“Ah, the weather” John Smith remembered.
The knee giggled as Mona Lisa probably would have giggled had the painting had a sound button.

locked inside a Petrosphere
one lark mothers
all songs

Johannes S. H. Bjerg

John Smith often lied in a sun tanning apparatus. Not that he wanted a tan. It wasn’t plugged in. He just liked pretending to be a sausage in a hotdog.

left to themselves
mustard birds
will self combust

Johannes S. H. Bjerg

For a couple of weeks Jane Smith thought she worked as an elevator conductor until her boss told her to sweep the floor and keep an eye on Mrs. Elderbaum’s hair. “It better not turn green again!”. Mrs. Elderbaum was very particular. She didn’t like the colour green. She also owned the hair salon in which Jane had suddenly materialised.

cucumber time
some politicians just
pretend to sleep

Johannes S. H. Bjerg

Jane Smith said to the young woman behind the cash machine in the supermarket that the moon was hers and she (the young woman) wasn’t allowed to look at it without a written permit. “I never look at the moon”, she said. “It reminds me of a scabby fox. That’ll be 28.75”.

reading Ecclesiastes or Donovan
no one knows how
to catch the wind

Johannes S. H. Bjerg

For a while Jane Smith lived in a lake. She thought she could escape the work of dusting her statuettes, cups, plates and spoutless tea pots of moonlight porcelain. Unfortunately a family of bass moved in too. They were a noisy bunch. Too noisy for Jane. She moved into a wheelbarrow instead dreaming of long hot summers on the road.

trace the untraceable –
you have a gene
for hand puppets

Johannes S. H. Bjerg

At last John Smith had learned to operate the machines at the laundromat, but was heartbroken whenever he found a solitary sock. Even if it wasn’t his. He started a kennel for homeless solitary socks and began an “Adopt a Sock” campaign.

sometimes vanity
is the digit 2
(which is a swan)

Johannes S. H. Bjerg