Concerto

Precious parchments of platinum prances in petition
like tinsel draping from a tree,
dangling in frayed strings of impulse
from each tendon of thought
and extremity of desire's
plastic wardrobe
are the rhythm keepers
of one's staggered sway
in drunken dreams.

Day rushes its rays
across the forehead,
stirring ogres and fairies
lurk in the shade of one's envelope of reason.

Breathing in the mist of maybe,
exhaling the ashen vapors of fear,
playing among the rainbow hued clowns
who hold a circus
among the sagging citadels of languishing decay.

Ecstasy blares off key in a song of redemption
by putting coins in a rat hole
guarded by a blindfolded map salesman.

It all is the collision of colors in hope's prism
saturated in a concerto
that never has an ending,
but allows us to keep
dancing through life.