fauxcroft

In my mind I hear

The clash of classical

And fairground Wurlitzer type sounds,

It causes my thoughts to abound,

Of spinning rides

And of twirling dancers,

Both spinning wildly

Like a horse that circles and that as it does prances,

Abstract images in full colour

Both coalescing with each other,

It fills me with a euphoric high

I am so close to the edge

Where I could laugh hysterically or cry,

And the reasons for all this I know not why

As to the reason these images and sounds unite,

So I shrug it off and try to move along

But it stays with me as if it belongs,

Like an abstract and alien continuous throng

Of weirdness that perpetually infiltrates my mind like a fog.