Terrestrial Head Contortion
My hands are sutured
behind my head.
I lie like a fallen yield sign
on the side of the road.
My path is yellow and humble.
My hands separate. Pull.
And split open the back of my skull.
Evolution takes place in the gaps
of solitude being locked in a room,
away from all influences.
Natural and spiritual become one law.
And I yield . . .
Pried open with my crowbar
hands, the grey matter separates --
creating an entranceway
for new experiences.
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