sasquatches are not for sale

I enjoy walking narrow paths that don’t
Lead to the Kingdom of Heaven, surrounded
By stone-mouthed chanting fish,
Exalting mushrooms (not the
Hallucinogenic ones, mind you) over
Marsupial dust. Two-legged chairs
Frolic around celebrating the birth of
A sasquatch. Casual music
Has eaten away half of each tree
Under the sun which is still
Bothersome outside its heat. A frog
Faintly plays flute with the shadows.
Old fiddlers blabber about fabulous floods.
Leaves lose their texture between
The soul and the eyes. Sounds
That musicians rejected are substitutes
For sand in my food.

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