Flooded Floorless Jungle

See previous notes for further context: Notes from L’amor Raging Rapids. Where I crashed on the far side of the shore, naked, clambering for whatever sand oozes grit through my fingers while clenching for humid air may not make sense. Your former partner, another researcher with a separate hypothesis with semi-complementary objectives, is lost on the opposite side, miles back. A wave and a salute to such a spirit who got one hell of a ride out of you before you gathered whatever supplies, whatever notes of yours, and the ones left by them, you frantically salvage before trekking into Flooded Floorless Jungle…

There are these sounds, a slither, flaps off high branches,

Nothing ever seen; dark helps that, light is meant to be swallowed.

Steps deeper in, hiding from the moonlight, glides too smooth

over snapping twigs, fuck a path, inclines like a cable car,

no matter how far. More noises, no voices, there’s a hiss, a missed

wind that blisters the skin, not bold, but scars forever glow red?

Shifts in the spectrum can’t find your shade of blue

anywhere. Endless timelines, leaping branch to branch.

Parting the massives leaves and from mission briefs missed

for the wallowing, not a pill worth swallowing.

Roads here have no need for train cars,

the stumbling keeps the messages smooth.

Not THAT smooth!

Arrived where all the nights change to a neon purple,

haze, lewd, delightful glaze in dead eyes, hotels the size of your current car.

No cash? All cards are accepted at the mountain branch.

Still no voices, foreign fungi pills to swallow,

former progression altered after revolt options were missed.

In the silence, you’ll never feel missed.

Plans, foresight, tiger circling the new kill turn vacant-lot smooth,

stressless until your ego is swallowed

heart drilled through, what comes out puts tar to shame by its blackness.

Don’t stop deep diving until you’re swinging from the redwood branches,

‘What the fuck is a car?’

Nomading effortlessly like you have a driverless car.

Pass all bars, painful pleasures should be missed,

But not dismissed, guardian angel stays on the overlooking branches.

Besides a claw’s grip, firing from the hip, their getaway is always smooth.

You'll embrace the forever voicelessness as a being of the Gray,

cyanide tablet stays in the cheek, pre-swallowed.

Crawling from the waterfall's bottom, feeling shat out after swallowed,

chewed, and you left field notes at the top in the failed escape rocket car.

Not sure it is important, but you don’t know why the river is green.

Worried? No room to care about that turn missed, those turns missed,

which brings the voices back in whispers, morning is going too smooth.

Birds tweet the real news outside your window on their rocking branches.

Retreat to the branch free from consistently swallowed.

When trapped in the Infinite Obsidian, vibe with its smoothness.

Do it for the old self you won’t miss, hit the highway to hell in your own car.