Fay Roberts delves into the somewhat psychedelic world of the humble Cordyceps capitata…
He stands foursquare, pronouncing time-glazed words:
Hey! Check! One-two, one-two, is this thing on?!
The silence chimes without the hungry herds;
he threatens to assault us with a song.
Hey, can I have a go? he asks, at last.
It’s not as if we’ve ever told him no.
This ritual observed, he slaloms past
the tangle on the floor to start his show.
The echoes shudder, picking up his beat,
while crystals shimmy, resonating years.
And though we’re stuck here, helpless without meat,
we sway in time, not quite yet flensed of fears.
The beat lives on, inside the hollow hill;
until the flame returns, we dance on still.
FR
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| They look more like matchsticks, if you ask me! Photo courtesy of The Ultimate Mushroom Guide |
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