"Crispy Christ, what is this?"
Each word a bubble, each bubble a hard cough.
my arms swayed like becalmed seaweed
and someone spoke in tones of excited, blistering purple:
"Platinum Stone. Incandescence grown. Harder
to find than peace of mind. The good
I swam through the words, breaking the surface
only to pass the blunt, the cherried key
to a better world, the pen dipped
in the ink of the Universe, Prometheus'
I lay back, swaddled in the very air
that surrounded me, my consciousness
a clear film superimposed
over a wild and churning sea, all foam and
Out of the cacophony she rose, molded
of divinity, mountain tall and
extending an arm down
through the unperturbed clouds.
There fell a book, with gold bind and
gold trim and gold lettering, into my grateful
hands. Supplicant's hands.
Hands of Icarus.
They opened the book, and warm light spilled
out, flooding and choking, blinding and deafening, erasing and-
"Dude." A voice, a peal of thunder that
shook down the world, knocking everything
loose, slamming books closed and banishing
"Take the blunt."
Created: May 16, 2017T-Hort Document Media