diatonic and in broken octaves,
envisions and emboldens
a landscape of silent colors.
He can only see as far
as his pink pants
- acrylic to the touch -
can travel uphill.
Prismatic convolutions of mind
a poignant flavor
as spicy as isosceles triangles
is his presentation to the world.
It always need more angels
when we hear our lights
ascending in a triumphant litany.
His congregation adjudicated
by tangy gavel sounds
plays the jazz of acquisition -
strutting on a syncopated runway.