the gears rhyme an endless tune
as the papers stack and flow.
windows are down on broadway
and the puzzle pieces fall away.
the trending science of fiction pulls,
racing you through the misshapen streets.
synapses fire the mind,
they fuel the blast of wind-thoughts.
so you escape from the reason you came,
running to the vertical drop…
catch? stop! time is out of frame.
now you wrestle with cherubs
in a cloudy phantom mist
and you rush to the old rusted lantern
to fuel the wick.
the dim orange flutter surrounds
now bound by your childhood
in the old treehouse burned down…
-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 1/4/12
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