Shaman Song
“The sun set against his back”- William Burroughs Colors mixing in skittish sun. Dance the fever of forever. My heart. Everything hisses and spins. My heart. A name on the wind. So hot. Dry here, I cannot sing. My thoughts entwined like a nervous system to some larger mind that laughs in silent repose. I pray, one day you may find my words, My skull, as so many remains that still whisper a way home. Are we not all star-born? Carbon molecules set to light? Put down my book when I sense a spectral presence. Memory chasm, a deep fiery pit. Life is what escapes the burning. We are formed inside of it. See these paths to madness and ecstasy. Hidden places where the spirits flit about. Can we retain a trace of our magic, Dripping unobtrusively from the clouds? I once saw him calm the waters. With a breath, he stilled the skies. He came to us in a hushed commotion. A memory incomplete and nearly fuzzed over. He attached forever to a word. A remnant of the very first flame. We set him alight to provide him motion. We never learned any of his many names. Wolfpack Contributor: Kevin Hibshman Poetry by Kevin Hibshman : Two Winters Ago A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Kevin Hibshman
Fevers of the Mind 
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