The 13th Floor

Sunfire roses
cascading vines
waterfall whispers
a garden of mind

A symphony silent
and sparkling with life
lingering among echoes
of wonder and strife

An electric engine
in a neuronic embrace
the neurotic erotic
in this necrotic space

using rhyme
to shape time
into heartbeats
sublime
drifting on fantasy and brandywine
As summertime falls
into autumn piles
spinning blue moons buckwild
with harvest bliss
and a homecoming kiss
I can see them rising
over the fae falls
and the ash forest
beyond the Tilting Rock
calling the mist up from the scorched land
and charred memoir
caressing the burn scars
with moonbeam teardrops

Does Dionysus still dance in the hills?
Do the Sasquatch still run free?
Do the fae still parade their thistle blades beneath the oaken leaves?

They do for me
Even in silent soliloquy
the unseelie cacophony
Sparkles bright against the entropy
of cubicles and clenched teeth
fluorescent lights and too much bleach
the smell of the sterilization of imaginative belief

So I keep old Bacchus waltzing
make sure the squatches are well fed
belt out the blues for the little folk
and let them party in my head

'cause if I don't
the part of me
that wants to breathe
is already dead.

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