Confined, sitting in an artificial box
   separated from the random spontaneity of everything unknown.
Mandalic wisps of multicolors dance
   straight through filibustered time,
   a self-contortion, succulent in the movements
   of the same set of societal programmings.
Sip the brew and animate the senses
   a habitual re-performance resembling
   any other monkey out there.
Patience is a virtue, suddenly becoming
   crystal clear.
In the background of the show,
   the master navigates his puppets
   in seemingly variable fashion
   an undulating experience that demands attention,
   screaming like an infant for some affection.
And we oblige.