by Roddie McKenzie
These moments are rare,
as the door opens between the worlds of myth
and the workaday.
I breenge in like Indy to plunder their treasures
and lug them back hopefully,
as the door slams down behind me.
To avoid again, the melange
of: junk mail, bank statements,
overdue bills and dirty laundry.
We can:
inject mountains,
pothole into whisky bottles,
book charters on acid airlines,
or just simply
listen to that voice that says
“this is a life lived less ordinarily”.
