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Poetry
My Acid Poem

There are four men in here,
Hidden behind bats.
With sharp brown faces,
And green glass hats.

They're stuttering like madmen,
And giggling like rain.
Opening skull-doors, mind-tubes, life.
And contemplating 'brain'.

A.Crowley live in their shelves,
Chulhu haunts their heads,
Atropine flows in their blood,
Succubi haunt their beds.

All through the night they howl like wolves,
'Round polyliths do scream,
They gorge theirselves on chemicals,
Then vanish in their dreams.

Riding their receptors,
They laugh and shout and cry.
They wind their guts on spinning wheels,
They're born they live they die.

Polymorphous till the dawn,
Their roads draw to an end.
The chains snap on their myth-cycles,
Their wings melt, they descend.

Finding the ladder which they climbed,
Was only in their heads.
As their bodies squirmed remorseless,
Magick carpet as their beds.

Gazing through their window,
They see the world and find.
That everything is as it was,
Except within their mind.

Though one among them knows the world,
Plays more invasive games:
The world around them altered,
While mind gives more of it's same.

Work whilst we're above the earth:
To focus on what's true.
The lesson here was fully learned,
I give it now to you.

My gift comes from good spirit,
My intention from the heart.
All I ask you in return,
Is reread from the start.
Deliver me from reasons why you'd rather cry, I'd rather fly.
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