This is a mighty effort at mining.
With my headlamp on bright.
I got here through the side door,
By way of an awful highway.
From time to time, in order to find gold,
You have to dig through the piss and shit and blood and worms and goddamn filth and muddy petulance.
Sitting dizzy in a brine of hot sea,
With no movement of any sort.
Even without an anchor.
Sun-chapped eyelids and a burning mouth.
Clouds running from the sun.
No wind.
The gulls can't even stomach it.
Skin taut, red, blister, it hurts to move.
Acidopolis.
On the other side...
However...
Green grass.
Morning dew.
Cold condensation rolling on the side of the glass.
Wild flowered bursting painted sky scent.
Everything of great significance.
Every valve open.
Perpetual motion.
It's difficult for a narcissist, being allergic to himself.
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