Bar of Soap, Sour Lemon by Mark G. E. & J. Karl Bogartte

All the cabbage fell off the truck, which generated the Northern lights.

Man walks past. His shadow is like a leopard, or a pyramid.

An empty room with the blue chair that spins very fast and sings in a foreign language.

Drop an orange off the roof to see it crack, watch for the smoke, the rubies.

A dried apple was found in the antique cabinet, and it resembled a forest fire.

Sticking your toe in the faucet. Stab your tongue with an ice-pick.

Scientists are in the trees. They have discovered a flaw in the universe.

A woman carries a body wrapped in a red velvet drape and bursting with poppies.

Floats it in the river with a candle lit upon it. Then looks at herself in a mirror.

Wide shot of numerous such bodies floating in river. Numerous women looking in mirrors.

Umbrella caught in an iron grating. A mandolin caught in a bear trap.

He collected epitaphs. He washes his face and runs out of the room.

Though her body was lifeless, it still aroused him.

He bathed her every evening at midnight, rearranging her shadow into endless shapes, while whispering strange incantations.

The book had fallen off the shelf. A giant cocoon fell out of the rafters, flooding the room.

Fingers on the back of the neck. A kiss on the bottom of her foot...

The monster knew her name. It was Delirium.

She fumbled with matches. The piano swiftly disassembled itself in the garden.

The file had been mislaid. A pistol was fired; the manuscript was stained with blood.

Frost on green grass. She grooms herself in the dark, pressing her paws against the mirror.

An orange, a thimble. A spyglass, a jar of vanishing cream.

One shoe. A room filled with smoke.