Chopsticks For Eating Peyote Poem by Stan Petrovich

Ah! Chopsticks: sign of civilization.
Peyote, psychelicious not.
The scupulously vile-tasting cactus,
Mushy and light green,
Queen of the desert, holding the treasure,
Of incandescent reality,
Of astral projection on earth,
Of extra-sensory projection
That really, like, freaks me out.

Out-of-touch with what is,
One is free to roam the 2
Dimensions of the tracing hand,
The tiger burning bright,
The lunar madness of a single step into the dark.
The crossroads lead nowhere
But to the heart of matter,
An hallucinated suspension bridge,
All-enduring,
Reassembling the brain,
Rendering it whole again.