We are each of us entrance to a kingdom.

Climb on my back, kick at my spine, and lift yon self over the gate.

We trespass, but no hand shall reprimand, for we are buoyed with the spirit.

The story must be told.

The story must be told.

Yum, yum.

We prepare our tidings by the light of a distant sun, the hum of fluorescent bulbs.

Get fat, get husky, get goddamn filled up on these suppings,

for ain't no truth except the kind you digest, absorb, and excrete.

Such truth we now enjoy.

A psalm of history and a psalm of health.

We delight in groceries improper, shop and steal and murder, to gain our illicit wares,

which writhed within us, a pregnancy of squirms.

Who says a drug is not alive, for it breeds inside us, blooms foul flowers upon which we sniff and grow glad?

I remember how the bombs fell, and the clergy they prayed, and the people they screamed,

for the judgment was at hand hand and it spared no mule

and kitten no tumorous babe it was a tuesday but we dopers and sniffers and huffers and shooters

just sniff sniff sniffed sniffed huffed hoffed shootgooed, gosh, guess everyone has a way to deal with those bright

orange blossoms in the sky.

I remember indeed these fowl blossoms and the golden shine of the earth.

Do not pretend to be absent, for I saw you that day and remembered your filthy back, your creases all crusty with the dried husks of our sweet trophies.

You are my favorite, and I want you back next week.

...