Ponying the Magic Carpet

I am a naiad kitchen god
sitting in a cathedral volcano;
it’s cape grotto s t r e t c h e s
into a Proteus forever chasm;

something like white
seal pup fur
lines the dark cabin of this
liminal, quantum
dimensional, volcano car;

Stalactites of icy zircon
hang from the cab’s
melty ceiling;

illumined by strobes from
aqueous street lanterns,
the zircon icicles look like
glistering Hermés leather,

or like an electric
Cartier diamond
with a trillion
geometric
facets;

Everything shines here;
rain crusts over the
windows in sapphires
from the microscopic
treasury of a miniscule
royal monarch;

I love the glittery
music that brings
me to this exquisite
unicorn place.