Time-and-Space Futility

There's a net of pychotropics, psychophobes, psychophils
I narrowly avoided.
Where are you, my dear little psych?
Are you ephemeral game of God's imagination?
Who am I? Where am I?
Where's the idea I should die for?
Everything's erased.
DELETED.
Final.
The end.

Dinner served with fine porcelain and ancient silver.
There's lamps fur on the floor.
Dalai Lama's on the wall,
smiling like Buddha on the brink of Nirvana.
The stamp from Zurich is on the plate.
JOIN ME! Relax. Enjoy.

- My dear friend, you're so cute and coolish, but I'm fed up!
- Something's wrong?
- I see everything.
- What do you see? Could I share my experience with you?
  My mind is a closed book.
- Don't make me laugh! Come on!
- OK! Let's take some drops of LSD.

Smiling both. There's cube of sugar melting in God's mouth.

And when the action of lysergic miracles will end,
we'll come back from the edge of Wonderland horizon,
where deceased meet yet unborn.
We'll be treating the eternal sadness with espresso
We'll be resting in arm chairs realizing time-and-space futility.
Amen!

11.59. 14/04 2021
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© Copyright: Valentin Luchenko, 2021