Awed by the simple truth

It was not I that chose,
non ordinary chose me, perhaps
out of curiosity. I have become
Nagual, a trickster, student
of the shape shifter, party to
that unknown realm past the
deception of that called reality.
Now an animal, now a man caught
in a Castaneda datura delirium.
What is real, what is the
dream? Something is missing
pulled from past and present.
The mind has become a broken
chair with three legged support,
an apparatus of contradiction,
neither useful or needed.
Where the seat of experience
was the glue of logic there
is now separation, only vision.
From the litmus colored
sky I veil my face, shroud my
body, hiding all that I
could be or should have
been . The urine tests of
years is a stain upon this
Kubla Khan dome. Khayyam’s jug
of wine has turned to vinegar,
the loaf of bread moldy,
and you are not here
beside me in this wilderness,
this corpus prison. There
exists only this solitary realm.
The song of life a lament wailing
on bended knees before a
maggot starved mind. The ink
still wet upon the parchment of
this soul, a scribble of paranoid
demented schizophrenic babble.
Written there a simple truth: life
does not lie….or, does it?

Copyright: 2010, Donald Harbour