Efthesis Mundus

Im a naïve child, bent on world contemplation
I walk with the underground

I tread the dusty paths of elapsed shooting stars, losing myself in the jesters Rubicon before realizing the sun broke the horizon again at dawn.
I trade myself for laughs

My garments are silk-screened projections of spirituality.
I cannot decipher their pigment.

I dance the salsa, but know not the steps
I think in colorful spices

I often wrap my head in multicultural produce,
to ensure freshness,
to ward off canned spirits

My documents are as leafy figs,
Tend as they do towards Newtonian inevitability

Ancient quills long replaced my fingers
Soaring wings trapped under paperweight

My guess is as good as yours,
But you are probably wrong

I reserve the best seats for angels in the night
And-
They-
One day