I was branded Holy by a bottle of prescription meds.
I woke up, untethered from the multichromatic threads.
And reaffirmed my worth with a display of spontenaeity.
Thinking, maybe the facade had cracked beneath a crack-head courting gaiety.

I don't know.

Daily, I shuffle through the dust on the moon.
I am one with the cosmic and logic-immune
And plagued by the shuttles that pockmark the earth.
I don't WANT a crash landing. I don't WANT that rebirth.

Seraphim candles and Sapphos live here.
The machining of my mind made that final frontier
Just a little bit clearer. And the horizon is real
As the heaviness of a bottle and shelf-life of a pill.