Down by the concrete river, the spirits arise from patches of datura where the spiral that became a pinwheel stretches itself again to take on the form of ghostly plant emanations pollinated by the consciousness of any wanderer who lingers long enough for the vegetal spirits to unfurl their psychoactive shapeshifting tendrils and guide the awareness toward the unity of all things through the merging of forms and the collective existence of iterative semblances.
For some reason I cannot read your whole poem. I don’t know if this is because you maybe using the block editor, also words are broken in the middle to the second line.
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Thank you for letting me know!
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You’re welcome.
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🙏🙏🙏
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I’ve never looked at datura in quite this way. Mostly, it grows wild all over the place where I live. Except for the huge and pretty white flowers, most people think of it as a weed. Of course, we are all careful to wear gloves and dust masks while eliminating it from our yards. All that aside, I really liked your poem. 🙂
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Thank you Dianne! I heard that Georgia O’Keefe whose paintings of it are sublime let it grow all over her property in New Mexico. 🍄🙏🍄
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These are fascinating!
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Thanks! 🍄🙏🍄
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