What is this

laying within crumpled paper?

tainted postcard, dirty and pure.

The hour hand melts and

my flesh dances like lizards

on glass, within the purple mirror.

The ego explodes in colors and

mystic revelation beneath my

fingertips.

Screens and childrens’ voices inhabit

Earth in keen untapped perspective

where palm trees sway and

golden light luminates the dar.

Black holes in the blue sky brighten like

a knob twinkling in rusted light.

Beauty of magical instruments united in

festivities and suspected indulgence,

come together, over me.

Fearless, humble connections between shaking

synapses induce the meaning of

life and purpose.

Who is this Lizard King and where is he

beyond the ever-changing horizon of

the Right day.

I will live like they did in Thompson Square

and revolutionize 21st century

transcendence into what once was.

Sing me a tune of the rose blossom and surely

he will reverberate there in

uncertainty and anxious extacy.

A welcoming embrace of geometry and physics

holds my head against refridgerated 

reflection to see into the

window of my rainbows.

Rippling water bouys my being in the

golden rays where ivy blossoms

my flower, new roses.

Darkness filled with tree brances

tightens that which grounds

and connects

the wonder and mystery of life.

I am not the only one.