weeping seafoam crown

 

free from the repurposed rubber

pocket of our makeshift slingshot,

i soar across a slit-scan star gate

sequence and crash land into my

bed through a pentagram hole

punched through the roof. i slam

shut my eyelids like old windows

left open overnight, warm the hot

shiver from the marrow of my

winter bones, program ruthless

impeccability into my technicolor

blood. i tune my attention to my

sacral, enter the orange eye of

dreaming, and conjure my other.

i tuck my physical vessel into bed

like my mother would when she

did and blink my astral subtle to a

another pitchpole pyramid bubble

adrift in an inter-dimensional spell

of unknown. i sit dead center of a

sacred water lily in a hummed still

hover, under the dense canopy

cover of a great grandmother

willow’s weeping seafoam crown.

a crosshatched patch of ivy in a

circular clearing, queerly kempt

and unbroken with path bound

from corner to corner by a mad

din overgrowth of wild grass and

flower. the roots beneath the ivy

bed knot together with those of

a bonsai burrowed through the

pyramid’s middle like the fingers

of lovers in the throes of eternal

longing. the ornate halfling tree

growing from the inverted peak

holds fast the whole with their

tangle of anchors as purchase

between capstone and megalith

entire. an ever luminous aura of

amber glows from the timeless

blue juniper and casts its warmth

about the shimmer held pocket.

i marvel in the sorcerer’s science

of silence and stopping the world.

cradled in a curious pressure of a

honey velvet ubiquitous breeze, i

kindle with the incandescent

denizens of the arboreal lovers.

strobes of bird and streaks of

insect intersect in divine blueprint, 

bioluminescent sentient entites in

a grand mandalic flux of inner

light. a hep tremble in the fat lip

of foliage above dusts a handful

of catkins in my lap, a wide smear

of disco crow caws an agreement,

and my ally appears before me.