Someone put psychedelic mushrooms on my pizza.
Garden-fresh – they smelled less of shit and more of spite.
I remember reading the Doors of Perception, and watching
capitalist gray-hounds hunt down communists or rabbits
but only get a bite of socialism, and they were all
on welfare.
I watched it on a small screen in black and chalk.
Carved out like a scene from Gilliam’s Brazil.
I considered the announcement that we are all island & universe.
But I refused to become the California Wildflower – hemmed in,
soaked in dye – dipped in petrichor, unburied, washed up
as memory or the smell of earthly deluge – Every moment will pass…
My gravity becomes my own collision. It will pass.
I hear the voice of Carl Sagan and he is unhappy.
I have broken the laws of science. If I close my eyes, it is gone.
I am cooked within the crucible of radiation – converted,
or consolidated; the element of invisibility.
But here it is. Here I am.