Sacred geometry spills
out the gash in the sky
amethyst rocks surround
my boney wrist
my heart chakra aches
like a muthafucka
I hope these purple stones
can keep me sober
The earth beats on my back
And I don’t mind the dirt
sprinkling my face
It reminds me of your touch
soft yet firm
Reminds me of a glossy beat
laced over a smoker’s croon
Bleak lyrics stitched through
my lips and ghostly bass
threatening to consume
everything in sight
Grant Wamack is author of A Lightbulb’s Lament and Junkyard Exotic. He is a weird fiction writer, the co-publisher of New English Press, a rapper, photographer, Navy journalist, and urban mystic. Come visit him at http://www.grantwamack.com
