Hollow Earth is Other People

The good vibes are killing me.

Seriously.

Isn’t it enough to wake before dawn, grind beans, grind teeth, go where you’re supposed to be, be there, be square, squander what acorns fall before you?

The doors to perception are falling on my head: who can fly when Nobody’s fortress blocks the sky?

Through these crystalline ramparts, patches of blue might be swimming pools, charming dream-catchers & tantric masters whose root chakras flex until the plexus bursts forth a ship that shifts into the bleed between verses, a unified field’s sweet silence.

Nobody's new home between the molecules: tucked in for all to see.  Making a mess of ordinary quartz, dog in the machine.

The Earth is totally hollow.  Nobody's hollow.  I'm hollow, you're hollow.  Hollowed be thy name.  Thy kingdom done, I won't be done--on Earth or in Hell, which, theoretically is under the Earth, ergo inside the Earth, as opposed to Heaven, which is the heavens which are empty, cold & full of dirt.

Bury him deep in the beryl & gypsum & seal the tomb with a rune so he, like saltines, stays down.

A geode is a wounded ordinary rock.  Split Nobody in two and see what's inside: styrofoam peanuts, gall stones, corn syrup & centipedes.  Tell it to the hound.  Down in the ground where the dead men go for a little time to be alone.