Riddle

Who I am’s child’s play, a cry in a kindergarten; though I pun on Latin, my Yorkshire kin’s laik, a whole lexical rainbow unweaving in no code, no Mason’s Mahabone nor Horseman’s Word — but I’m caltrops at night to the bare feet of adults inspiring their language to such colors as I am, Kulla, Mondrian plastic pixelating Mies blocks; the Ephesian Artemis in each cubist bust; the Song of Amergin by a Turing machine: name me or you’ll be thicker than any brick.