The Rebel Chameleon’s Successor

The labyrinthine, crushed pebble, path
coiled around the shell
of a burnt out Victorian mansion.
Once inside, James was blindfolded.
To know the way was forbidden.
His feet became his eyes.
‘One day you will be more than a visitor
in this temple of verse’,
a compass defying voice proclaimed.
Beneath the glow of flaming torches
a man in a chameleon mask
chanted to the beat of invisible drums.
The dust of ancient bones,
danced to the whims
of the stone mason hypnotist.

“Who are you” James begged to know
as their surroundings dissolved
in the eerie subterranean glow.
“I am a guerrilla artist
at war with the mechanisation of men.
Look around you, the cave has vanished.”
They stood in a crystalline amphitheatre.
Colours alien to this universe’s spectrum
exploded in the eyes of bird like creatures,
stunned by the feats of a dancing plectrum.

“Are you God?”

“It is a creator you seek?
Envisage the first moment of your existence,
if you can.
Building fortresses from clouds is easier.
Who are we,
the sky wizards sculptures,
neurochemistry and nothing more,
or an eternal collision
between the past and the future?”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will.
Come, while we talk philosophy
mansion collectors and their sycophantic minions
threaten all life on Earth.”

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