Having set sail under bright blue sun
the sky offered hope and salty negation
the starfish’s traces now show the way
our journey has just begun, tomorrow another day.
While my friends gathered around rock-scented fumes,
I closed my eyes and chanted soft melancholy
The ritual now commenced and I began to agree
the way of the soul is to be dead or be free.
The fire rites creep into the brain
as the fine, green, grasses dance to a wave.
Your sister went on weeping and pointed to the funeral pyre
but all that was visible was the ethereal skyward fire.
The death of stars had never been so beautiful
the chilling grip of the end now haunts your face.
As even immortals cower under psychedelic power,
the cells are in motion and now you’re just a walker.
When sharp glass scrapes across clear stretch of skin
you know it’s all about crystal fragrance and dirty needles.
~ written april 2012.