Riches to Ragtime

your umbrella head is open &
your thoughts are pouring down
like confetti on astronauts

&
your galaxies have drifted
into seafoam waves of
anxiety & obsession

before
the jungle of the concrete city
closes in
on your extinguished flames

your smothered sparks
snuffed out

your were the monarch of mastery
but now
you are incarcerated in
the dungeons of
the château d’if-not