What is happening...

Wayward plains
and a taste of the forgiving
wings of self-propelled
machinery in vain
Transiting visionaries
and a flying mask of
hope and an emerging light
All through an overhanging
struck-out reflection of
some day
latching on my every move
Feeling no less stranger
a saving grace of the
aero-angels, passing up
almost swooping me
As I dash into
funnel-shaped forests
sprawling towards me
A little and every step
is spoken of,
in surreal expectations
of crawling words
to spend and then dissolve
My dear, spatial rolling
tiling floors
Where thus, the clocks
around me, struck in
perfect synchrony
I remember a twirling
doll and her hands of
defiance!
Moving still...
and spanning into
the unrelenting pursuit
of what is unseemingly
present, but consciously
fading into the ruffling
cracks and pieces of
a meddling mind..
Spoken of and evolving
through my head
It is starting to ache
again and unbending..

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