For Ray Bradnury
The gardens are asleep under
blankets of bark dust—there are
mushrooms everywhere now,
puffballs, brackets, morels.
Ray, I drank up the wine
you made from summer.
Let’s brew up some
psilocybin pumpkin spice
Dust Witch Pale Ale.
Let’s sit in the rain and drink
to the fungal kingdom come
with our eyes sewn shut.
Books Available
Dervish Lions
The Day of My First Driving Lesson
Country Well-Known as an Old Nightmare's Stable
High-Voltage Lines
Knocking from Inside
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