it’s a circus out there, circling in certain circuits of cyclic cyclones
under the big top of bubbles and tulips bursting in tantric beauties
swirling in, and swinging around the streams of seas and shores of systems
that help and heed a hare in leading the haunting of houses
keep the keys locked in, if the kaleidoscope is kept, there will be kangaroos
what a whale of a tale, that will wish for the wizards and trolls to whisper together
Poetry as a Safe Place 