Little Lights

Be wary,
There are phantoms afoot.

They postulate deranged designs
Swirled together in a soporific spectacle
Advocating all perforated forms of hallucinations
And idling in the gargantua's dance of fortune and fancy.

The tiny grail collects their simple measures
Each bar indented in it's chorded interval
Trailing the steeples and stained glass
And curing clemency of it's faulty curiosity.

Practitioners of fettered orbs
Retinas steaming, clattered in the streams
Their sumptuous blood boils in voracious clouds
While lovely cacophony awaits birth among the clandestine zephyrs.

When they depart that carapace
That vellum in which vivid life and friction collide
The vapors will settle into it's sheath
And once again know that they are at home.

Be kind,
There are phantoms afoot.