The answer: three.
Two to hold the
ladder, and one
to shoot the gun.

I’m sorry. I
was distracted.
So, what was
the question?

In this
world,

even a
simple

cherry
blossom

constitutes
a miracle.

That's not a
pencil, it’s a
brontosaurus.

I know I am, but
what are you?

Six out of seven
fabled dwarves
are not happy.

They ski down-hill
laughing absurdly,
madly, in sepia-tone,

like an old photo.
One says: ? The
other replies: !

They are judges.
The distant court
house looks small,

like a doll house.
A girl is on the
hill top, her eyes

glisten like a
policeman’s raincoat.
But she doesn’t exist

yet. One day she
will look you in
the eye and say: .

The tea
kettle
whistles

in the
kitchen.
Then all
is quiet.

A cloud
moves  
slightly

and the
room is
a little
brighter.

Even though
there is

nothing about
himself that

he likes, he
defends his

image like he
is singing

the final aria
in a tragic

Italian big
time opera.

What are you doing
to yourselves? I can

not suitably reply
to the question  

posed by the vast,
unfathomable

sea, as my little boat
barely stays afloat.