you hand'd me a handful, you hand'd her a handful, you retain'd your handful - done by sight, something rare to be a good omen. eyes met collectively as we contemplated. dry musty taste, almost retch'd. the sun shone bright, and it was too late to turn back. we giggled a bit at first, and you found miss'd cap. pop'd it. commenced vomiting. your tryp never peak'd. your chick laid on blue lounge chair calling me over. commenting: "it looks like ground beef, doesn't it?" her finger pointing at pile of *****. my stomach churning, vision as well, collapsed into chair in shade. -- lapse in space, it had come on too fast, too hard, and i went to find more driftwood. my fire had become sacred, burning only the long dead. the brined and dried. i skid down scree hill on heels to find snake on my path; startled, it slid off - no concern. drift'd from initial plan to explore an alter'd world, saw spider and *****'d. cleansed. and back to collecting my driftwood. fire raging midday, lounging in shad; sun raging midday, cruising out this end'd tryp; wondering in constant if that spider ever had his tryp.