The lunatic, the lover, and the poet are of imagination all compact,

Shakespeare,

A Midsummer Night’s Dream

Playing amongst geometry–

We reach out hands

Anticipating 

A catch.

They drift like strips

Of paper scraps: colored neon.

Wanting for thought

Pressed on their pulp.

Craving for touch– 

But they are caught 

in the canopy.

With lucidity–

Shake, blow, 

Coax 

The drowsy giant.

For we are your merry pranksters,

Please let us careen with you.