Authoritarian toad in the snoring desert

 Rub the authoritarian frog 
Kiss him incase he bursts into a noble prince
Intoxicate yourself as he swells and releases venom

The brilliant illusions of the Dmt
make it seem like there is a prince infront of you
But it is the authoritarian frog

Waiting still for another kiss
For another flex of venom glands
To observe how the drug manifests

And then hop away leaving a place of placid calmness
to become a horrid chaos

Old age, corn syrup and distraction

 Could you guess it was a certain wisdom of age 

Teaching all the heavy stuff that a stubborn mind refused to acknowledge

The color of age

in its hands a diet hot chocolate

In its mouth a hundred pills

That will help fund a Mangione execution

Screaming you are in good hands

corn syrup drip

Some cheap painkillers and a document invalidating your claim

some out of dater using his last veto

to age you a little faster

so as you earn and save, burn and age

There will be no way to go back 

The mistake carries through as history

each care will drift toward the hole in the form of a coffin

and be buried there under indifferent golf course grass

that screams for more light
more cash
More corn syrup
and above all more distractions

Dig a trench

 School has melted
The face has aged
The pupils have their flesh robbed
Their bones are the tables

Geriatrics are the audience
Booing and applauding nonsensically
Life was a cake
A race for the icing
as the old drooled

School melted and mentors dwindles
We went from highrise living
Self interested lives
To digging other people's latrines

The shovel and mud
substitute the teachers
tables and books and computers no longer
just pink brown compact moist earth

on and on for years and miles

Further those pray hands become time

 Gotten inside somehow
I dont know how long I've been here
Seems cozy enough
Thick jelly like walls
Holding these hopes desires illusions
The dream membrane
In somehow
Sitting with elbows on knees and pray hands until I become like time

Yes indeed,
many shadows hover in the background
For a taste of what I really am
What am i but a gatecrasher?
A man who shouldn't be inside your head
Wandering up and down
Through your bungled maps and flight paths

reasoning owned by emotion
Logic that coffee blot shape
Uneven borders different shades of stain

Over time I rush yet stay put
hissing in the paradox
Cozy inside the jelly shell
proding thoughts
provoking feeling
Digging in and camping deep inside you
chasing meaningless lights
symbols for mysteries you mind wants to ignore

reasoning as you do
sense is not found here
The sink inky black remnants
Of  half drunken coffee
Poured out

No tide can extinguish

 Water has reached the mouth yet has not put out flames
 Distant coastlines appear a single figure stains it
 still see the sun struggling behind its cover
The man with fire in his mouth saluts it

None can tell whether it is rising or setting
whether there are words in the fire of the man
 Can anything beneath his burning mouth be salvaged
The land will go up in flame

Is the warmth sinister even if it defies winter
If it melts snow and consumes despots?
Or merely an invention of a warped mind
A magic of a fierce will?

 And if you finally reach the shore
 will you recognise the land by its blackness

From the tactile

 You begin to understand
 Drowning is not about water
 It was the gradual surrender
 Your own judgement 

 To The mysteries
 Accumulated until their combined wonder
 Impossible to distinguish from your own existence
 The endurance for strength

 accommodation for love
 Avoidance of conflict for peace
 Ocean merely gave these private defeats
 a physical form

 Every wave carried another reminder
 allowing you to drift from the tactile solid infrastructure of lies

A lurker awaits

 one hundred meters beneath the surface
The wreckage of the ship certainty settles into the mud
A monster continues to move
 It bellows far beaneath the waves

 The creature patrols and lurks
 It hides around the sunken structure
Patience older than the ocean itself
 Occasionally pale shapes pass above
 
Disappearing before the eyes can establish what it was
 The creature is centuries old it knows the shapes
 It has been there all along
 waiting for the next ship to sink