Saint Orange Sunshine

This life is but Shakespearean play and all the lonely people secondary characters of a primary-colored kaleidoscopic dream appearing here and now in universal consciousness.

After the orange sunshine we are sitting on a dock in a psychedelic lake watching an imaginary moon. And the moon imagined fifty years ago is the same moon I'm imagining tonight, my lysergic lover.

Suddenly I'm seeing the moon is all my light reflecting in this lake of altered Dominus Vobiscum. God is dead in perfect thought but thought is never born in absolution. As space-time is my mirror.

Pelvis by Georgia O’Keeffe by Michael Vaccaro