Fog horns scream in the harbor. The wind hurricanes through the window. Tornadoes are unmuzzled as I begin to dance the dance of the Kurd Shepherds. I stamp upon the floor. I whirl like dervishes.
Colors revolve dressing and undressing.
I lash them with fury stark white with iron black harsh red with blue marble green with bright orange and only gold remains naked. I roar with joy. Black-footed ferrets disappear into holes. The sun tattooed on my back begins to spin faster and faster whirring whirring throwing out a glory of sparks. Sparks shoot off into space sparks into shooting stars.