Elixir of the Pink Moon

- A Freewrite

A handloom factory of intricate arachnid microfibers, thread-count weave 126, gargantuan tarantula tentacles sprawling cobweb tapestry of higher consciousness, dissonant chords synchronizing with a rib-tide of subterfuge, forging connections from amphetamine to synapse - as the black widow plunges its fish net into a mudslide of entropic opiate fantasy, and the third eye locks in to the heart chakra. The squid splurges ink but Lucifer the light-giver vacillates gleaming Mercury in a high octane, high voltage, gamma-ray indulgence of redeeming life-force. The secret of the Golden Flower. Ying and the Yang coinciding in cosmic alignment where the ley lines, the earth chakras, meet with the mystic waters of the inner temple and the transcendental imprint of the goddess forms. A photosynthesis of the soul intoxicated euphoric with the elixir of the pink moon. Subatomic pearl fountain of ecstasy breathes symphony chords through resonant heart- strings, and speaks the hexagram of the heavens; irradiating supercharged frequencies; as the crystalline lattice dissolves into a kaleidoscope of liquefied emotion. The satyr prepares the bacchanalian feast and a cornucopia of crimson libations. Bathsheba partakes of the forbidden fruit as the serpent tempts the dish of the golden apple. Ambrosia and nectar dissolve with succulence into a vortex of virtuoso oscillations leading to the hall of dopamine iridescence. Entangled in barely the barest of gossamer conscience she falls directly to the axis of miscreant temptation. Ignite the carburetor of calumny and misadventure, and give throttle to my rocket fuel of biological misfire. Hail fire and brimstone with the thrust of my furnace as the piston ravishes asunder, and the floodgates of Nirvana are assailed by tides of Vesuvius' molten lava. But for a moment gratification, then abject aftermath. Now release me from this alchemy of ill-fated decadence, this force-field cluster of amoral indulgences and away this mushroom cloud portent of apocalyptic doom. Bring me the white swan and lead me to the golden fleece, mithrail of majestic healing so I can scale the heights of holy restitution. Bring me to utopian sanctuary where whale 'music abounds. Sear me with sunbeams as I ascend the starry heavens and that dreaded fatal hour.

by Sheel Khemka

31 October 2017