he flickered shadows
played along the wall-
a cave of generations
stalactite met stalagmite
where ruptured distance
crumbles
to fold before the fall;
crinkled
as eternity
he questions, always questions
rigidity’s intent,
& bent the broken rules-
he floated,
walking tall, he
stuck it to the man
tie-dye candled vision,
he ate slickened wick
to flame
& burned one
for us all;
he spoke in dreams &
visions
singing curtains black,
white rooms wore him
like a shawl
& flashbacked indecision;
he is
the egg-man
he is…
the walrus
silence blaring
cuffed radio’s designs;
he watches shadows
played along the wall
& paints a canvas;
on a cave of generations…


AND SO DO YOU!
Your poems are unlike the usual and I always wish I might leave a tribute at the foot of each one.




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