The little blue man just passed me on the road, with his little green wife holding onto his arm. The sky is the colour of the sea, yellow when calm.
The mauve coloured trees are laden with saffron bees, sucking the purple nectar from every lilac coloured bud. The mandarine cat is after the crimson canary; flip flap went its wings as it flew into the tree.
The melon dog chased the mandarin cat up the red blackberry bush, where for a rainbow-coloured moment it just sat, hissing occasionally.
Past my indigo picket fence, the pink highways disappear over the blue horizon, rose-steel, silver worms stretching across the country, over the fields and into that shadowy gap in the charcoal hills far away.
Cotton wool clouds float by in a turquoise sky.
Purple postmen, on pokka-dot, dog-proof push bikes, deliver the letters just after sun up and just before lunch, when the yellow dog snaps at their wheels, as they ride by.
All dads have black dens with green settees, where they go after dinner and before they sleep. The front light burns like crystal on the porch in the night.
My bed is ten miles wide. It is brown the colour of steak, in it, from the world I hide, that special place, before I wake.
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