The Caravan of Man

Unhinged at last, so fast,the flight of parsley colored parrots atop the palace walls and halls where falcons fall from azure skies with cries still throbbing in your throat. Across the moat, dark lodgers scan the plains. A lilting tune remains with vague allusions to a love long gone. A famous fascination with a starlight harmony. A tale of stallions wildly racing 'cross the moon hooves like silver knives to slice across the flawed and scattered stars....... The night is ours.... a Gypsy Caravan, poor decrepid beast, a broken spine of wagons full of odd imported dreams, a calvary of fools..... and we go swaying past at last, the fools brigade weaves on beyond the quiet glade..... and in the crushed blue flowers of our trail, the irridescent beetles scurry by, their grass roots religion hushed, yet noted by the ever hungry owl who loudly scolds the galaxy and Man........... because he can.