How long will this last, this delicious feeling of being alive, of having penetrated the veil which hides and the wonders of celestial vistas? It doesn’t matter, as there can be nothing but gratitude for even a glimpse of what exists for those who can become open to it. – Sasha Shulgin
My buddy’s brother was a drug dealer
and the elephant keeper at the Portland zoo,
so my buddy’s brother was my buddy, too.
I got no problem with elephants.
Herbivores with good memories.
That was a crew, all gone now.
Remember sitting around, passing a bowl,
hearing about how one dawn,
what the hell,
they all jumped into a couple of pickups
and drove to central Oregon
and dismantled a metal bridge,
which they hauled back to PDX
and sold for scrap.
To buy more drugs.
I remember
expressing admiration
for their drive and work ethic.
One night, I get this call,
‘meet me in Old Town,
corner of Whatever & Your Momma.’
Knew just the place.
Better than the backside of my scrotum.
I lived in the Northwest
and I was ambulatory,
so I hoofed it on down.
I’m standing on a dark misty corner and my buddy’s brother pulls up in his truck. I hop in.
We exchanged greetings, he pulled away and said, “Look in the bag.” I picked up a plain brown paper bag, the size the liquor store puts your pint in to carry to the park.
I looked in.
Damn.
Imagine you don’t have to
go on a hunt,
searching aimlessly
amid the distant cow pies outside of town,
hoping not to get shot
by the landowner,
praying to come across a magic crop
and never finding diddly,
you might’ve well stayed home
and a buddy says,
“Look in the bag.”
Raining, dark, holding, priors, you can’t be too careful. He comes to a complete stop. He looks to his right. He looks to his left.
And when he does,
into my mouth
I stuff three huge mushrooms
and swallow
with a single dry gulp.
Wow, I say. I don’t know what to say. What else. Can I have some?, I ask. Of course, he replies. But, be careful, they’re strong. Some people go with a cap, some people prefer a stem.”
So, I take a stem.
He’d be suspicious
if I said, No thanks.
That’s the last thing I remember.
No, the last thing I remember
is being on my knees
in a telephone booth
outside the Safeway grocery store
next to Portland State University
calling some woman
I liked a lot
but had just met
and didn’t really know.
Her name was Mickee
and she came and got me,
still kneeling as in prayer.
We lived together three years
and she left me
for a better man.
I told her
she would never find one.
She said
it would be no problem.