You’ll never guess what I heard on a train one night—a kid shouting “flibberty‑glorp!” into the empty carriage. I sat there, imagined a moonlit bakery run by a dancing cactus wearing a neon tutu, and suddenly that word turned into a whole poem about moonlit deserts and invisible pastries. That’s the kind of absurd spark you’re looking for, right?

It started with a line about the cactus wearing the neon‑tutu, then it marched into the moon and began whipping sugar dunes that smelled like lavender and stardust. The poem jumped from a bakery of invisible pastries to a desert where the dunes whisper the night’s secrets, and every line ends with a little wink at the absurdity of it all. I left the last stanza blank, so you can fill it in with whatever ridiculous twist you want—maybe the cactus decides to host a midnight tea party for all the lost trains.