I want you to imagine a pink and purple panorama with a wide spinning wheel, dancers in teal and grey walking on top all day while the daughter of a poor man rides an elephant draped with ornate cloth like the banners around them all trusting the master will feed her —he presses his toes on the rope pointing to trapeze jumpers nursing young chimps wearing yellowing clothes. There’s a rug behind all of this, with shapes like floral diamonds on Victorian walls or Arabian carpets like the one you’re standing on. When you look up and down, above and below, there are whole other floors of this like a doll house with unicycle riding maids serving plates of golden apple cake to VIP patrons with children in cages under the table God peers through the moon’s eyes in a big dark blue bay window with curtains of moss died orange and green while your family walks up behind you and asks if you see the lion that’s bathing in grey leopard pee—washing it off—another young slave girl hands him a cloth and he thanks her like the master won’t. Twelve boys practice hula hoops off to the left. An elevator will take them to the church-shaped looming arches with marble carvings of new testament verses and anthropomorphic suns and moons Can you hear the hum of angel lullabies coming from the banners that hang over head? A long-uncursed pirate ship shrouded in shadows serves as the bed for this pink and purple panorama with a wide eight spoked wheel, tiny dancers in teal singing nutcracker songs, swear a curse on their master in red-striped long johns.