The brain, in its psychedelia.
An euphoric state of presence
mystics and realism all present
detail and colour always of high essence
All posses, the quality of seeing truth
some just aren’t ready
some are scared, to see the matter
some just simply retreat.
When one is, he reaches out
caressing its humbleness it accepts and begins
forgiven over for all his sins
he is ready, to again win.
When vision around is hazy
the minutest of spec, is clear,
its existence and meaning all make sense
confide now in one self’s, wholesome gain.
Wes Wilson was a man as ordinary
he dared, to crack the nut wide open
he did so with emphatic style
he reached to where he belonged, he found happiness again.