Show me an unlikely spirit,
one that gazes up high
and takes the stars down,
one by one,
fashioning a necklace,
and once bejeweled,
dances in the darkness.
Give me a strange day,
let morning become evening,
slowly rising from the West
to sit above us in the dead of night.
Give me whisky,
laced with poison,
one that I have long drawn
a strong immunity to.
The taste of the tincture
lingers on my tongue,
like the name of a lost lover.
Let the music play,
tantric beats and esoteric words.
Let voices rise and fall
in time with the rhythms
that stutter the heart,
catch the breath,
and sing
to the disquiet
in the soul.
Keep me in odd company.
Not those
whom you expected to be here.
The prince and the pauper,
the righteous and the wicked,
the thief and the chief of police.
We all gather
in bent twilight,
under the cascading aurora
that shimmers out long streaks
of unimaginable color
and winds up and down
through the spaces
between here and Heaven.
We exist
for no other reason
than to be present
at this unlikely convergence.
A shared dream.
A mass delusion.
Psychotropic event.
Group hallucination.
This
nexus of space and time,
divergent from this point,
that leaves
no one who attended to it
unchanged afterwards.
A party of the aeons.
HG – 2022
