Kaleidoscopes and Mixedtapes.

Memories are kaleidoscopic –
Turn the glass
And the entire world
Is turned on end;
Tumbled over,
Jumbled over –
Time retools and reshapes.
Time is a mixedtape
Stuck in my ’92 Tempo;
Brown ribbons spew
Like spaghetti
And we’re surprised when
The winding back
Makes sense of the senseless.
Some mixedtapes
Will never
Disentangle.
Some kaleidoscope’s
Blurry edges
Will never
Focus.
The neon sign
Tattooed across my
Aura reads
“OPEN” –
It is instructional
And descriptive.
In that moment when what
Was real was birthed
Between carefully controlled
And overthought thinking,
And the sloppiness
Of it all was
Exquisite:
Imperfect Perfection –
Like tangled
Mixedtapes
And unfocused
Kaleidoscopes;
While the good little
Boys and girls
With painted faces
And painted bodies
Somberly trudged
To the funeral dirge
Playing on repeat
Beneath the mixedtape
Tracks –
While they sleepwalked,
And sleeptalked,
And sleepfucked –
And sold themselves for
Something a little stronger
Than heroin –
There was nothing
Hidden to decipher.
Chaos’s trickster
Birthed this world
Like her finest web
And chaos’s trickster
Remains the guardian
Of the fates –
Guardian of stories –
Guardian at gates
And portals –
Guardian of
Kaleidoscopes and
Mixedtapes.
Garbled songs,
Garbled pictures –
Sliding in and out
Of focus;
All was madness
From the start,
And sorting the
Insanity by group
And type,
And labeling the
Intangible;
The indecipherable;
The deeply personal –
In order to bring some focus
From the kaleidoscope glass –
Is lunacy
By prescription.
Turn the glass,
Enjoy the view,
But to the spider
And the fly
Kaleidoscopes and mixedtapes
Are merely child’s
Amusements and blind
Metaphors.
Choose your story
And pick an ending
And enjoy the view
As the world turns
And burns
And sleeping children
Gnaw at sticky webbing
And cut the bridge threads
And learn that
“OPEN”
Can also mean
“See”.

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