This hit of acid’s wearing off, up rises gumdrop sun.
Last night's star bright vision’s pigments mix to mud,
their profundity has gone to sleep, not gone but hidden in the blood
that feeds and fools my daytime mind & lifts me from the crud.
The trial of sprightly footprints across unbroken thoughtworld’s snow
tell me more than where I’ve been, but hint of where to go –
where visions are like toadstools grown thickly by the road,
each plucked by chance at leisure’s pace or left to shine unknown.
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