Fifthteenth Thought

Picking up the mushroom, i sniff at it. It smells purple, God it's already begun. I lick it, and it tastes like Celine Dion. Without a further thought I down it, and can feel it traveling like California down my esophagus. It hits my stomach, and my stomach hits my brain. I can feel butterflies in between the lobes of my brain and my spine clenches. Falling to my knees the grass beneath me melts to sand, I'm at bar beach, but each little shell on the large beach houses a tiny black hole, and the ocean sounds like chemistry, H2-oh no its going away, the salty smell leaves me behind, with only hints of falafel and Mr. Buble to keep me comfort. I feel myself fracture and am simultaneously in April 20th 1991, and in a pink toned Israel. In April, I hold a small baby, with the mark of destiny on its forehead. I can see the little Paraguayan will leave an imprint on my soul, and leave me craving for more long after he leaves from me. In the pink tinted Israel I am lost in a labyrinth of maybes, shouldn't's, couldn't's and airline tickets to far away places. Maybe David Bowie can help me out of this impossible fantasy constructed of the very real reality.