Stencil-streamed mud-clipped boots,
Eiffel tower disguise,
Brilliantly wrapped in a corona,
Of sadness and delight

Un-burdened I dance,
Stinging silently across,
Aqua colors,
Symposium of disaster they call,
Whom life?

You speak of as if it was betrothed to you alone,
Or some ghast faint reflection
Someday the purpose of creation,
will creatively in-twine, over
and over again

Dis-purse, dis-purse,
like cool mists of glee,
showers of gladness,
inside droplets of peace