and as is normal,
the latest class of trainee
teachers – as guardians
of our science, leaders of
reformation – swallow
hallucinogens and sink
into the gallery of frag
-ments. Too soon, one
of them enters
a Benandanti vision
of sorghum and fennel;
learns poisoned wine
disorients; soon begs
for water
at the village. Another
– sleep-paralysed – is
frightened trying
to disaggregate
some fin de siècle
occultism, it
liquid slips through
her fingers, bending
and shaping contra gravity
and perspective;
a banshee howls
in her ear. Meanwhile,
a young bloke bashes
a misheard Kalahari
bush poem with 21st
century atheist
blogpost – sheds tears
when it declines
to break. But
all in the end do learn, common
senses on fire, just
to sit and look
at the quenching
blaze. The colours
compete, and the eyes
don’t blink, the spines
are alive, and the skin is
alive. And vocation burns
in the chest.
* * *
Townes-Thomas lives a quiet life in London, England, and spends his time struggling to make sense of the things he reads, and the world in general. Some of his haibun are forthcoming in Scifaikuest.