“There are no rules of architecture for a castle in the clouds.” ~ G.K. Chesterton
My thoughts move together,
clap hands and promenade,
in an unpredictable production.
The setting alternates at whim
opulent and computerized and groaning with extras
in the blink of an unseen eye,
there is only a barren stage;
a single lonely light bulb and a broken milk crate.
Thoughts blossom and burst and run pelting for the exits
and are chased on their swift lizard feet into corners
and gathered into fantastical bouquets of chameleons
that flip through color changes like a short circuiting mood ring.
I wonder at the traffic encased in my woolly hat as I make my way down a city sidewalk
and I wonder how many changes of scenery each passerby carries within them,
their placid faces belying the stormy seas and ship of dreams,
or of fools,
Our thought are like a city of clouds
skyscrapers of disappearing ink
a bridge built of sighs
and we compose
these complex structures without ever meeting the architect face to face,
those blueprints rolled and stored away in the deeply hidden vaults of the elan vital.
This city of synapses and worlds within worlds….
my calm face and eyes give you no hint of the chaos I am master of.
In this secret city
in this magic I have created, birthed and nurtured from impossible seeds,
I am the lone Adept.
in my poetry,
does the scope and grandeur of my hidden world seep through.
Only here can the combined light from a sunrise production,
both the grotesque and the heartstoppingly beautiful,