His Chaos Place

His is a place of chaos,
a carnival, a funfair,
escheresque.
Where time twists
and edges blur
and ceiling becomes floor.

Where colours and sounds,
scattered by breeze
are mislaid.
Senses assaulted
by scents of cotton-candy,
hash and chips.

I visit him here
in this nonsense place,
his Topsy-Turvy-Land.
we laugh at mirrors
and ride on unicorns
and run from clowns.

We spin and laugh
and scream and cry,
watch shapeless things and
words and thoughts
fly around
like demented birds.

Sometimes it stops,
like a powercut
and there is only blackness,
silence and uncertainty and you have to
wait, be still,
hold your breath...

until again it begins,
a whirlwind of
frenzied fun,
colourful chaos,
musical mayhem,
sickly sweet smells.

It's fun for a day,
then colours overwhelm me,
my smile aches,
my jellied limbs fail
and I seek sanctuary
in order and solid ground.