I believe our dying souls will soon be healed
Once the universe’s truth has been transcendently revealed,
For this fragile notion whose unconscious presence haunts our weakest hours
Is the means by which the violent demiurge his own depravity empowers,
For his caustic doctrines have our tainted mind’s invaded
And in the soothing brilliance of their elegant obscenity casually persuaded
Our frightened kind to seal the trembling portals of our laudatory lips
Lest a rising horror in all its strange perversity eclipse
The archaic wonder of those paranormal roots
Whose gentle potency the countless myths of living death disputes,
Whenever we the swirling contents of its bitter soup imbibe
And with a frantic stylus its somber majesty transcribe
Upon these inky skins and waxy vellum leaves
Each of which a lustrous portion of that blissful realm retrieves
From the pixilated depths of those kaleidoscopic regions
Where mother ayahausca patiently awaits with all her visionary legions,
Whose sleek perfection stuns the curious receptors of our dazzled being
For our disused eyes are only now through tattered veils of darkness seeing
Past the gruesome fictions of that monumental lie
Whose hateful thesis claims that mankind must in abject horror die,
And I know that such vile distortions have been immensely overstated
For have they not already been by cunning theorists debated
Whenever they discuss what lurks behind the ghostly trappings of that malenchanted mirror
In whose glinting, crystal surface only nothingness comes nearer,
And were we not by joyful gods with faultless symmetry designed
Who around our greedy flesh their psychic tendrils twined
When first we placed that sour fungus upon the eager tips of swollen tongues
And let the earthy fumes of that primeval forest whirl within our burning lungs,
But who among us knew that this hazy version of eternity would not forever last
Or that we into the seismic void could be for slight offenses cast,
Certainly not I who once at midnight danced with fleeting elves
All of whom resembled mechanistic versions of our vastly higher selves,
Which may arise from out the mingled ashes of these reverential pyres
Whose lashing, amber flames are certainly much more than sacrificial fires.

And I am willing to accept a limitless array of disconcerting answers
For the impossible existence of these interstellar dancers
Which no probing x-ray’s microscopic beam can possibly detect
For do those skillful trippers not such brazen inquiries deflect
With the clever shielding of their adolescent guile
Whose gentle, childlike wording always makes me smile
As I drift across the magical enormity of this itinerant dimension
Whose fabled continuity lies somewhere far beyond my feeble comprehension,
Yet in my many wanderings have I amidst these verdant bowers found
The soothing antecedent to that horrifying sound
Whose bleak tonality spoke to me in emblematic dreams
Which I always knew were solely based on psychedelic themes,
For when I considered how the infant multiverse was incorrectly formed
My failing senses were with glowing fractals swarmed
And the healing power of this unifying vision
In which unseen entities counseled me to make an instantaneous decision
Caused me to revise the crucifying tenets of my self-destructive view
That I must all extant traces of my buried faith renew.

And the foul concoction that crippled shamans in their wicker huts distill
Finds its tangled origin amongst this mossy nest of sacred vines
Which creep throughout the steamy lowland jungles of Amazonian Brazil
Where I once sought to carefully decode the mystifying signs
Whose whirling patterns open wide like geometric gates
That guard the moonlit pathway to a thousand constellations
Where the lonely sculptor of this spiral galaxy creates
Our brittle souls from out the cosmic pulse of mystical vibrations.

And when I sip the purifying nectar of that soporific brew
It becomes impossible for my disintegrating mind to immediately construe
The weird, narcotic essence of this mesmerizing trip
Whose endless wonderment causes me to lose my daring artist’s grip
Upon the slender threads of our immaculate reality
Where everyone is blandly draped in corresponding masks of hideous normality,
Yet I have seen the vengeful wounds which I ecstatically inflicted
In a vivid catalogue of lethal shades and gory hues depicted
By those gleaming masters of the telepathic void
Who in their wisdom hope to see all selfishness destroyed
Before we the final moments of this tedious incarnation count
And see if our restless, inner lives did to any lasting thing amount,
For that bubbling potion will undoubtedly reveal
All the petty secrets that we intentionally conceal.

And that whirling panoply of silver UFOs
Which from the blazing fathoms of my dormant psyche suddenly erupted
Led me to this hidden information that only Yahweh knows
For he like me was once with ignorance corrupted,
So if you see a golden serpent flying through the banded sky
Or a mighty herd of prehistoric beasts upon this insubstantial land
There will be no need to wonder why
You think these freakish marvels grand,
For these daunting figures with their melting faces
Are merely moaning apparitions from that dismal outer zone
Where our nomadic kind in all its fractured mystery embraces
The suicidal passion of that faceless deity unknown.

And if this celestial creature is my mangled spirit’s faithful guide
Then I believe his pagan sorcery shall lead me safely to the other side,
Where I can be protected by that queer, ancestral force
Whose prodigious magic gets its existential power from an otherworldly source
That purportedly exists beyond the atmospheric borders of this chimerical domain
Where I a sovereign’s crown of true enlightenment attain,
Whenever I align my pulsing chakras with those gentle arbiters of peace
For in this persistent state I know that joyfulness will never cease
If we but follow a single wise admonishment
And do not silently concede to absolute astonishment
When we glimpse the knotted artistry of a distant stellar cluster
Whose empty, floating planets hypnotize us with their lovely, airy luster,
For I know these ever-present bodies shall our eternal pilots be
As we navigate the supernatural terrors of this esoteric sea,
And through their gradual procession help us boldly comprehend
The simple fact that the spiteful tyranny of death is not a realistic end

To our fitful time within this disembodied sphere
Where we the golden sound of warlike trumpets hear,
For have I not perceived within the bursting fullness of my ravaged heart
That our abandoned species had this lofty knowledge from creation’s vibrant start
And with these noble truths can instantly reignite
The fading fire of our dimming second sight.