Clouds of gunpowder, heroine fumes and goat hair gently rocked him from pothole to pothole.
Clouds in the sky seem to be falling down like feathers
Plaited Snakes stretch out their frayed sinews in front of him beckoning him to rise before falling back in a tangled heap on his lifeless head all in a deafening second that lasts a lifetime.
Blue getting blacker the harder he stared and less sure that his eyes were open.
Lisac,hitherto unaware of the developments of the last 40 years had taken a field trip to the mountain tribes in Afghanistan to survey changing attitudes towards women.
“I feel therefore I am and must be.
“This must be the posterior non REM sleep where I see and forget everything
(He reaches for his dictophone,a token from his days in the asylum,to help talk over the Voices)
“As I lie I see the yolk trickle down my eyes and focus my vision
“I see new beginnings, a razor and my kebab enmeshed hair fall from chin to ground as my mouth gapes open and I see it spit the guttural meme one last time.
“Allah hu Akbar”
Stoned by the walls of the caves in which he had dwelt,now raized from that underworld and up to the effervescent surface ,amongst the 36 smoking cinders of the Mother of all Bongs he lay