Women as shamans and the Empire of hims

to control her and men
herbs and plants to outlast their distaste of the last supper

mysteries of ecstatic vision see the male-in-elite
hiding in the open empty religions
State exploitation and production of material

die hard collapsing is their unholy rail roads
to their illusions that livable is later
the gift of women with a cauldron calling
stirring us into a higher
dimension without division but with
beatific view

its synapses firing with the spark of consciousness
is us
we’re the matter that matters that’s observable
there is no transcendent future that is escapable
it isn’t chemical it’s alchemical and what remains
is what became
unseen is what is seen
linked in is not a technology it’s the ground of how we
come around

vibrations inhaled exhaled all hail the breath
that doesn’t take but celebrates
which way to the witches
zooming out of control you know to knowing seeing
we don’t need no reproduction
just produce
a loving Earth First with a Last Supper
that lasts



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