Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

A little pot of cactus—succulent,
with verdant sage phalanges. The fancy pot
is sage and handsome too; it matches with
impressive decorations: ruddy strip
across an invert bell curve rim, a blue-
and-pink bouquet motif around its hips.
The bowl is filled with normal dirt and sand
my childhood sandbox lost in thoughtful hand-
fulls—a recycling operation. Tips
of older cacti set new roots and through
a bit of time, a little sun, a drip
of water of now and then (God bless the myth
a cactus saves its water), grow atop
the windowsill—crooked, low and bent.

My first epiphany came from cactus
I had been reading Huxley
while all the Doors to Perception were slamming in my face
so I went to the nursery, the kind that sells plants

The nurseryman pointed out the cacti to me
he said, "here is the yucca, here is the prickly pear, here is the peyote."
I stopped him right there and bought the peyote.

I took it home and pressed it through my mother's juicer
got a green vile liquid
yum yum, yech!
and then yes, yes, yes
I studied my palms
while I hallucinated symphonies in the air-conditioning

just from a little pot of cactus

LR--

If souls exist before birth, I don't know where they would be--but I would think I'd want mine to have been traveling around with you, learnign whatever it is that a future embodiment would appreciate knowing.