The Black Napkin Volume 1 Issue 5 - Page 18

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three poems by jeffrey maclachlan

informative brochure

Did you know how much of our day is spent catering to our lungs? Imagine instead of breathing, opening your mind to the cosmic opportunities that await it? Think of your future. You keep your day job while your mind works another. That’s a vacation for your soul, who's been swamped at the office for years now. He thought that a corner office with a holy water cooler would firehose him into fluorescence. That's elective surgery for your third eye, a fresh sibling for your shadow to duplicate. All the while you are breathing. Let your brain take this helpful quiz to see which dimensional window it should puncture. As we speak, galaxies crumble into granola bar dust because of unfilled positions you let slip through your ribcage.

Pyramid scheme

Millions of coltan souls are stashed in purgatory mines, and this shrieking commando is my prototype. Several years ago I'd do anything to flee this abandoned realm. I longed for my shoulder blades to crack open like piggy banks so a chubby god hand could pry my wings loose. Every time I was left behind, they'd crunch my temples in a Judas Cradle. Now I want a new life, but I can't do it alone. With saintly investments anyone can trash Solomon's throne. Cleansing members will rule the catacombs when we smash holy jaws into hallways, and Merkabah pledges will receive halo brass knuckles and a seat below me.