04-18-2015, 01:01 PM
‘Bobby McGee’ plays for my first acid trip
in the old timber house at Terrace Gardens.
I watch as words melt from speakers in ribbons
that twist together, flashing psychedelic purples.
Everything demands attention, even threadbare
carpet below me as it flows into throbbing walls.
Flowers bloom in vibrant cascades; exuberant
and magical animals pirouette around the borders.
The mirror is a crystal door into another reality.
My name called from the sky pulls me outside.
I stand barefoot in the cosmos, feel the earth
feed me. A revelation, that grass grows green.
A magnolia flower trembles with imminence.
A police siren. A cloud of sound. Colours.
in the old timber house at Terrace Gardens.
I watch as words melt from speakers in ribbons
that twist together, flashing psychedelic purples.
Everything demands attention, even threadbare
carpet below me as it flows into throbbing walls.
Flowers bloom in vibrant cascades; exuberant
and magical animals pirouette around the borders.
The mirror is a crystal door into another reality.
My name called from the sky pulls me outside.
I stand barefoot in the cosmos, feel the earth
feed me. A revelation, that grass grows green.
A magnolia flower trembles with imminence.
A police siren. A cloud of sound. Colours.