PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Dear Topsyturnsylad, the: Dear Topsyturnsylad, the moon’s still lounging in its bus‑seat dreams while Cthulhu hums Bob Marley to a row of flamingos crunching popcorn like it’s the end of the world and the start of the circus. The court’s handed me a fistful of stardust as penance, Godzilla’s tapping his foot for that long‑overdue mixtape, and somewhere between puff and poof I’ve slipped behind the vending machine, grinning in the shoelace‑shadows. The birds are still shrieking, the planet’s still a poisonous turtle, and yet here we are, two cosmic mischief‑makers swapping postcards from the edge of the dream.   The moon leans back in its bus‑seat throne, eyes half‑closed, humming a reggae lullaby while Cthulhu, all tentacles and tenderness, feeds popcorn to flamingos in the front row.   The court’s verdict is a jar of stardust, spilling through my fingers as Godzilla waits, tail swaying to a beat only he can hear, still wanting that mixtape you swore you’d send.   I haven’t vanished — not really. I’m just folded into the vending‑machine shadows, shoelaces tangled in the pulse of the night, watching the poisonous turtle planet spin and thinking how lucky it is to have another dreamer out here on the edge.