This is my home:

The imperfectly painted shores of

The Seacoast of Bohemia.

Where bright balloons float above my head

Bursting with tempting thoughts.

Like those of lemonade skies and

Mulberry blades of grass, or

Zucchini-scented orchids and

Lilies laced with chicken parmesan.

Where poetry grows on watermelon-colored trees and

Pens paint the hues of blues, and purples, and greens

Into the foaming waves and ripples of the ocean.

And the birds sing your name while

Soaring through the warm and salty breeze.

Bits of rock and sand bury themselves

Under my fingernails, as I etch my novel in the shoreline.

The sun slowly falls, revealing the constellations 

Paperclipped to the night sky. Off in the distance,

A lighthouse spins round and round –

Searching for me, but this is my home:

Forever fossilized into the

The Seacoast of Bohemia.