History is a victim, a snuff film
still reeling from the width of its
distribution, a rough cut killing its

portrayal of lies worth living,
an obscene depiction of some
divinity’s dirty dreams made

palpable, a weeping canvas
whose skeletal frames our boned memories
struggle with filling, a dicey

narrative all the more riveting when
dodging a caravan full of
gypsies threatening to make off

with its inciting incident,
a white elephant quaking at
the sight of a three-fingered mouse

whose blackface & Snow White mouth frightens
audiences into buying
bullshit by the heaping bushel,

art & entertainment two very
different approaches to getting high
but entwined paths in the same forest of


escaping existence, getting
lost a kaleidoscope of ivory
thighs and deep-blue eyes undoing

its parts to deny Christ in four
dimensions three times, a crisis
of conscience finding its niche, a

wireless connection hitting its
stride without looking too desperate for
tension, a ceremonial

knife severing umbilical
connections without forsaking
primal inheritance, dying

while trying to climb the Tree of
Life making more honourable
the mention of a familiar’s

name while passing the river of
good intentions, laughing while transgressing
moral acceptance, the past what

happens to magicians and shamans when
seeking the substance that creates
god within, love’s potent entheogen.