Spores of Thought
I was standing there in the street
Watching a news report on a wide screen TV
In a shopping center window
Somewhere in Brazil.
A man had stood under the wrong tree.
Sticky seeds landed on his neck
And sprouted, growing roots into his throat
And pinned him to the ground
As a tall tree grew out of his chest
Growing more fruit pods.
A group of young people were standing around on the sidewalk.
I watched them shave their heads and sprinkle
Purple dust over their bald scalps.
The spores sent mycelia into their brains
And grew purple filaments that looked
Like long strands of living, waving hair.
They looked at each other and seemed to be communicating
Without speaking. They told me they were
Telepathic, and that I should try some of the spores
Myself, as they were both useful and pleasurable.
I tried to get away from these people,
But when I ran they came after me in a pink school bus.
They gave me bottles of purple spores and clipped the hair off my head,
Assaulting me with the purple dust until I could feel
Tendrils creep into my brain
And heard the random thoughts of a multitude
As thin strands of purple hair
Floated in the breeze, writhing above my scalp.
The fungus became a part of my brain
And my thoughts were like radio waves,
Another channel of the spores.
