Edible, apparently. (Scarlet Elf Cup)
Mushrooms.
Mushrooms get stuck in your teeth,
Milk tastes of magic and poison in old tea,
Smoke tastes of biscuits and acid.
Watching the receding reality,
Waiting slowly for slow unraveling,
Tangling senses touch deep ethereal lines.
Drift after the rush, and dwell in mind exile,
Occasional bitter biscuit mushroom aftertaste,
Bilious back of your mouth,
Earthy and natural, but focus slacks.
And the gaps in your teeth,
Like those in your life,
Are biscuit-filled and tea-tasting.
As colours start to paisley and dream,
The first tingle at the end of your tongue,
The first casting of moorings to
This perfect but dull reality,
Fragile gateway to delicious and heavenly,
Just a mushroom-step from surreal scenes.
