from classic red/white/blue to stranger hues,
the ash propeller now has stopped revolving –
relaxing in its patent leather shoes.
The Bentley’s roar sounds more now like a symphony,
machine guns melt and drip through yellow skies,
where purple clouds have clearly got it in for me;
the Baron’s circus drowns in custard pies.
As Ginger’s Camel sputters off to starboard,
it looks more slug than dromedary;
while Bertie’s kite sprouts fuzz that’s freshly barbered
and Algy’s busy, dancing with that fairy,
I wonder, as I strafe the glowing sea,
if that was really sugar in my tea.
Squares with Concentric Circles - Wassily Kandinsky