Disciples Mark Poem by Stephen S. Yeandle

Within the illusion a tangle mind weaves.
Pablo’s analytic cubes,
Dali’s subliminal dreams.
Into the looking glass and
down the rabbit hole we go.
Out upon the yellow road to hear,
improvisational jazz played with an M16.
To watch the capricious display of a
kaleidoscopes spin.
Where colors collide
and sanity divides; wishing to hide.
Voided visa and passport permit.
No exit save one.
Assigned to a world of holy wars,
where the righteous choose to die,
in the name of their god…