writing about my life

Magic Mushroom (poem)

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These dry theories are my only friends 
The alembic’s hot, wet content blends 
In intellect and weave of vision 
I hone all my tools to precision.
This lonely pursuit is all I love 
I have left behind all humanity 
Quiet lab and scribbled formulae 
Are all that’s left to comfort me.
Into bleak aloneness I go to seek,
the air is pure on the number peak, 
not always wholesome are its vigours,
my chest burns from unplanned rigours. 
The austere has now claimed its servant,
Preoccupied and numerically observant.


Written by Luke Dunn

September 8, 2017 at 7:40 am

Posted in Poems

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