Ride the seasons of the moon.
Let the moment call the tune.
Ramble through the tongues of Rune.
Escape my empty city room
where the circus plays at daybreak
and no one seems to care.
The court jester shrieks. Queen Raven’s ghost seeks.
Ornate idiot speaks of the secrets of night.
The Solomon sage who owns pretense of age
sits alone on the stage beyond the spotlight
and sings softly the song that says we belong
to one who knows wrong is the shadow of right.
But can anyone know
just what is the show
and what keeps us going back
night after night . . .