muck

perhaps unicorns shall inhabit the man's couture, and we shall forever live on the diversity of omnivorous plant-life, the understory to the fairie-taled Amazonian rain forest, wherefromwe once got pharms and needles, cacao and abundance of pollenators, flowers and ayahuasca, yerba mate, sifting through indigenous cow dung, for millions of acres of loose-leafe canary yellow Federal Reserve, vintage 1777, or else we could drink an aloe and lemon tonic, and our San Pedro, tripping shrooms with Rumi the mystic wanderer enamored with the Beloved for aeons and E-ons, our hard-ons shrinking to match one nation's fuss-budget psychoscape.