when walking toward home I thought I'd seen all.
There in the distance a half lit-up light;
said, "MORE", (not less), with an arrow in flight.
Now I'm one who's known, for taking a chance;
so I said to Robert Eringer, "come, watch this dance..."
I climbed up on top of this transformer box;
I'd thought I'd be cute, sorta sly like a fox.
Eringer stood snapping his photos away;
I leaped for the sky; "voila!" I did say.
Those lofty ideas that run through my head;
are more than myth that one puts straight to bed.
It's Surreal, its Dadaist, its searching for edginess;
Man Ray, and Dali and Magritte would insist.
Vlad the Impaler would spring from his grave;
if sighting this scarecrow; this ghost-skewered knave.
I'm glad I am here in this modern age;
where art manifests genuis and genius is sage.
The Magic of flight once gave power and might;
to witches and warlocks on broomsticks at night.
Were I to be flying in the day's of yore;
I'd be burned at the stake... Right? Suzanne Gore?
