The carbon moment
feeding the chain
a locomotive
within our brain.
Tasteless, wordless
the plumes of steam
a vapor of soma
riding our dream.
On to Edge City
over cliffs and mountains
into the valley
of eternal fountains.
A warty green man
welcomes you with a flute
as the train slow down
to take a toot.
You feel it now
underneath understanding
that you’re actually here
and not where your standing.
Tell it to the Mountain 