Cycling Madhouse Mind

Strange dreams beget strange poetry.

My dreams keep making promises,

great things they have in store for me.

I climb and climb and follow leads

of phantom concierges.

The staircase to the treasure winds

unending, goals I hope to reach

replaced by sequences that seem

to grasp my fascination.

I can’t keep up the setting shifts.

This wasn’t where we meant to go,

at least not from what I was told

when this ambition started.

A living room becomes a lobby

of a great establishment

fifties gangsters battlements

of ping pong tommy guns.

The wife and mother faces charges

though I know not what she did

while the other gangsters hid

or fell while they were fighting.

All I wanted to begin with

was to have my jacket changed,

brand new colors rearranged

in patterns captivating.

Countless quests came to swallow

the dream I dreamed while I was dreaming

in their ceaseless act of breeding

to replace my first desire.