Dropping Mushrooms with Jesus
pupils spread wings,
doves float above the Holy Ghost
that illuminates in the sands, the footprints
of whores, lepers, and the downtrodden.
I turned dials, flipped switches of source codes—
bent time and space
to come face to face
with Jesus in Nepal.
Yeah, Jesus and I dropped mushrooms;
he joined me for the ride.
We jumped through the eyes
of the People-In-The-Sky,
and Jesus was brought back to the future
in a DeLorean of Divine Spores.
The Anointed One,
the Mushroom King of Kings,
was not at all impressed with 2016:
"Good Lord! People created a religion in my name!?
Temples, rituals and books, all created in my name!?
What a disaster! This is exactly what I am attempting
to move away from.
Those are not my words in that line! Why, I never said
such a thing! How did this happen!?
Father, Oh Father Manitou, why have you forsaken me?
The golden calves still dangle from the Vision Tree."
thunder thrummed like the war drums of Cain;
and as lightning arced,
Jesus spilled forth an acidic rain.
His eyes seethed with fury;
an aura of white light shone from him;
it washed over me in waves of euphoria,
igniting an idea in my mind:
Jesus could use the mushroom flux capacitor
to journey back into the past
and rewrite a twist into the plot.
The vampires and zombies
shun me as an unbeliever—a blasphemer—
while they drink the blood and eat the flesh.
I have shed the scales of the living dead,
dropping mushrooms with Jesus.
The cloned church of abomination
dashes apart on the unforgiving surfaces
of plastic and concrete,
of geo-politics, cruise missiles, Prada, and Polo,
while doves and the Holy Ghost
illuminate in the sands, the footprints
of the living word.
2016 Polygon Psilocybin Remix
June 6th/7th, 2016
(originally written, May 16th, 2012)
Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2016