Blown mind slaves
Upon the midnight hour
In static
Gone mad
Lost in medicine chants
Worshiping a liquid moon
Here
On lunar dunes
No ordinary world
A rotting deity
Plays maracas
Underneath a crystal
Sombrero
Dreaming
About children of
Cat people
With chatoyant eyes
Furtive
Yet alluring
Calling out lissome beings
Otherworldly
From in-between the mortar
Of an evocatively bricked
Labyrinth
All standing
In a crooked line
Two by two
By two
Outside a rod iron gate
Made of smog
The entrance
To the final realm
Between reality
And the devil's playground
That most lack the wherewithal
Made of fool's gold
To pay the cover fee
©James Dennis Casey IV
Drunk on Metaphors 