Glass Lilies

Upon a foreign land of Kathmandu
Above festering streets and crowds,
Found an unknown gate to Xanadu
Red and greenness of morphing clouds.
As a sarangi master squeaked out tunes,
I enter'd through thousand eyed-walls
Below the archangel's gate du lunes.
To drop into a crimson-milk falls
Titanium ostriches cackled above
Earthy elephants and floral fiends.
Kosher salt rained down with love
As giant silicon ravens intervened.

Seven towers sprouted downward
Splicing the buttery concrete beneath
Revealing skin-boned Yeats the bard
Dancing barefeet with yuletide wreathes
Atop his head, with neon monocles
Singing metal-dubstep of jazzy blues.
Earthen crack spewed fire and oracles
In forms of Kevlar wingless cuckoos.
Machines acidified into quicksilver.
As the towers moved, the sun flashed
Into congealing rays of purple fever
As the bard kept jigging unabashed.

Down the towers into the great depths
I saw a field of Venetian masks
With thousand expressions in depths
Of these grotesque Venetian masks.
As they cried, laughed, and sneered
I ran as they gave chase like hornets.
Next I saw a forest of clones mirrored
Of myself mimic'd. Game and sets
And matched. So I keep running
And running and again running
Into something that is so stunning
With beauty that is so stunning.

A resplendent grove of crystal glass lilies.
That hum foreign cherubic songs
I want to pick one for you.
So I reach to pick one for you.
A deafening shatter and crack.
The world vanishes deep black.
Mere one glass lily remains.
I reach, but it slashes me crosswise
And as my hands filled with shards
Hold the crystal flower in my grip.
The Sandman releases his grip.


-Wren