Moliere & Molly’s Magic Ping Moment
Moliere & Molly’s Magic Ping Moment
It’s magic, full of star shaped fuzzy light stuff,
mirror-balls spinning, floating in bright yellow light
Molly, me and humanity – warm skins, a glowing
patina of sweat beads circling fractured fractions,
of fractious thoughts, we lie down, dark shadows merge
into our special white yellow light.
A butterfly, broken wings, crushed chrysalis bits,
meringue pieces lying on fresh tarmac.
A warm road skin – glowing black liquorice -
shiny water droplets, steam rises – smells nice.
“Bye, bye!” little boy cries,
crying tear drops splatter.
Now unaware, coming up, disassociating ethereal
grounds, as sunlight pings from window to mirror,
pulsing light, signifying to some -
fir trees on a horizon line, black against orange
nibbling a sky, blue blurred, fraying edges, threadbare.
Diverging now – shadow memories decorate pavements,
hardened, like Plato’s cave, the thirteenth (magic it is!) chakra,
a multi-faceted two dimensional timeless blood line.
Add ten, multiply, divide, sequence, linearise the binaries.
Then it’s done, now he’s gone. And her, and her. And him.
Pinging towards the sky. Forever happy.
Eh?