Psychedelic Poem About Primordial Awareness more millennia than Christ himself would count

Voice of Knowledge, Ear of Heart
Psychedelic Poem About Primordial Awareness

He wore a jet black T-shirt, Megadeth
emblazoned on the chest like Harley sorts
created, and he winced with every bite
he swallowed from a dish of lobster pie,
but was a less expensive substitute
or something maybe just completely other.
Joe and I were talking reality,
or rather of a dog’s reality,

that black and white high-pitched virtual
reality, and Megadeth was saying
psychedelics take you there. They open
up your every sense like turbo-charging
life profound and some survive the psychic
shock, and then some crash on through the nearest
window. Something tells me that’s not all
the story though. The mind negotiates

these sentient curves quite well. But there’s a deep
intelligence that’s been suppressed for more
millennia than Christ himself would count.
You open that without a prayer, you’ll find
you’ve taken on the wings of Azrael,
black angel; there’s not a vehicle created
that should ever fly, or even crawl,
without first understanding well the fall.

~Son Rivers 2008