Maharaja Blues

🦩🦇 The Pink Flamingo Bat In twilight’s blush where the mango trees lean,   A flamingo bat flits through the tangerine sheen.   With wings like silk and a beak that sings,   He pirouettes past Saturn’s rings. His feathers are pink, his eyes are noir,   He sleeps in a chandelier, dreams in a jar.   By day he’s a poet in velvet repose,   By night he’s a shadow in flamingo clothes. He dines on echoes and nectar of stars,   Plays jazz on a sax made of cinnamon bars.   His laugh is a loop, his flight a ballet—   He’s the moon’s own muse in a cabaret. So if you hear flapping where flamingos don’t fly,   And the night smells faintly of blueberry pie,   It might be our bat in his rosy disguise,   Winking at owls with flamingo eyes. 🦩🦇 And in another dimension in London  Original photo of the moon over Tower Bridge by Hydekey aka hydey_88 on threads See below  Full...