We make our way To Banana Chip Bay With faces of funeral glee. And we watch cotton buds In soft soapy suds Bounce in a Handkerchief Sea. We rest by the rock Where the Fudge Fish flock To the Wanderer’s billowing gown. In darkness we linger As he rubs one long finger On a swiftly…

He lived his life Upon his head. One day he sneezed And now he’s dead. — Illustration courtesy of, and copyright, Dave Kirkwood. Follow him on Twitter.