shantysoul cardboard blues

i've been moiling in this present
life, in its ever redirected course
to find that time is a sphere-
like fantasy, a mimic of a mind

i see place, a you out there
churning, almost close
enough to find carress of,
but i've already lived this
am and am already missing it

my mandalas blow away
before i can finish them, women
don't call pigeons parrots but
i can't help but parade my
flashy feathers in the dark

language is a trapieze artist
s dream, a slow pendulum,
an inside-out sleeve i surf
and wish well to you too
midnight effervescent a
spark ploughed shoe