Chasing Windmills

Shoes clunk upon imaginary time,
through inexistant space, and
across corridors
of stains life painted
on walls,
without movement.
Fingers kiss
the grooves of
cities born from
stripped lead,
lick boundaries
of rainbows
long forgotten.
Above,
a magnetic candle
trembles as
dust waltzes
in Cinderella's slippers,
across the dance
floor.
Over dented steps of time,
concerts
of retrospect perform
music customized by
aged wood.
Doors stand with greedy
key holes, and crests
of numbers furnished
with nipples of
sound.
Opera of spirit
follows along a
mosaic of delusion,
a chronological
passage gone
awry.


Still... sort of work in progress.