Tarried by some particular urge
we searched the verdant underworld
sunken beneath a putrid folly where
the accounts of hallowed fiends festered
withering beside a caldron lightly.
Broken from this shell of falsehood
punctured by a fit of reason
capturing the fancy of some troubadour
ventured southward of insanity by
shaken faith for a kind of vanity.
There were other places far beyond us
cotton candy winterlands decorated in
existential windmills -- caught between
the breeze and a vague notion
that they themselves moved their blades.
One by one dapper villains twirled
umbrellas with their gauntlet-covered hands
swinging gently round and round
catching each stray misty wet flurry
drop by drop.
Up just ahead there stood the door
our passage out from this
perpendicular to a wolfish grin
the door opened itself.
a light in there.