Dolphins search butterfly formations,
for fleeting novels.
Herbivorous jaguars roar the blues.
Effervescent scorpions mime the beat.
From where, do their delicate rhythms emanate?
The valley of a trillion spectrums dominates the horizon.
Its pulsating crystal forests reflect highland lakes.
Mountainous cactuses sprout from opalescent beaches.
Stars roam crevasses like lost pigeons.
In a cathedral cave,
Graham H Goal Posts Smith,
the high priest of the Obscure Poets Club,
the Terrestrial Scuba Diver himself,
the original Mr Ultra Cool, Ice Cold,
points to a spherical piano.
It hovers like the death star renovated by hippies.
“Play it with your mind Azalea” he urges.