Another clock, another tower
sketched out in the sky.
Long-bearded sage bells epochal secrets
in cloud-talk as flocks wing by.
As clouds roll by in the wanton sky,
no matter, no mind, no derisive spirit,
no sense in these days of wicked ways,
of the wise
witches wander. Merry meet in
“up to know god, I tell’s ya”
It’s all about how we arrange to appear.
Scraggly hobo, ascetic seer, abomination
(or a-bomb a nation).
Pitch a well-earned vacation
on points-of-view stocked in
mindbank. Mind blank?
Enjoy the ride.
Twin jugglers set on stage.
Nature and nurture combined
through tidal trails inside
— a seamless tryst with fate.
Hear eldritch tale, my star lit dear
of how we now have wandered here.
Now’s waiting; don’t be late.