GYPSY MATHEMATICAL ART ENGINE

The draining cycles begin to thin and the bounded art engine of all good things drives within.

I heed the call from mathematics and the family of the infinite, and of the very vast curvatures and energetic potentials that can scarcely ever remain conventional.

I sit corduroyed in blue with spiral’s limb lookout at galleries of Art-Polaroid-Nuevo. What a funny something. Did you know?

It is my very own wild-a-call from the right here-and-now, which I’m sure was seen in gypsy visions long before I ever dreamed them.

Unborn in the imagination and well out of the domain of the clinically restrained, will my life’s love’s loveliness ever be the same?

Tealeaves tell me so, and they should know, but I am also re-assured by love and all the other very exotic stuff.