A Psychedelic Marching Band Of A Thousand Peacocks Part Tres Poem by Goocolbe Questioni

Great sparks of every imaginable color and intensity resembling a psychedelic marching band of a thousand Peacocks pounding, torching, cutting and drilling simultaneously in a grand, undulating, pyrogenic flock of divine energy.

Out of instinct or idiocy, or maybe some haste-fully prepared concoction of the two, he takes the first step and begins his descent.

As he shimmies his way down, the energetic presence adapts to and accommodates his arrival by dissipating momentarily, just long enough for him to pass unscathed, then reappears with all its original brilliance.

He looks down toward his destination and observes the placement of his final step. He turns his attention back upwards hoping to catch one last, final glimpse of what he had beheld.

Just then, he notices a slight shift in the surrounding earth out of the corner of his right eye...then a great squeal reminding him of a giant ocean liner being rung out, slowly, like a rag.

Putting to use an articulation he did not know he possessed, he dives forward with all his strength and tucks his limbs as close as physically possible to his body, effectively propelling himself forward like a football or some slightly aerodynamic creature obviously not adapted to flight, down the adjacent corridor just as the surrounding vertical tunnel implodes in a choking chasm of fire and earth.

His old, familiar foe Panic ignites into a stubborn inferno and begins to lash and slash at all that he is as he instinctively and desperately attempts to articulates his survival.

Then, unable to move or breath, and like a 'SSHHHHHHHHH' of epic proportion; silence....then peace.

Just as the Sun rises in the morning, He is reunited with the Grand Illuminate that marked his admission to this world. But not in the form that illuminated the Great Forest, but in the eyes of the Ember that he had sworn, ignorantly, to liberate himself from.

He gazes into her eyes, pleading and begging for a single thread of reality. A word, a gesture, anything that will suggest that this is not just an exquisite dream or some grandiose psychedelic adventure.

She looks into his eyes, face beautiful yet expressionless, for a time that seems to span all the moments of their previous, shared existence.

And then, as he feels sleep begin to lift, that slight, genuinely enveloping smile takes form.