by Alicia Moore
In the moonlit mountain air,
I dance to the maddening
bass in my head–
bonfire ablaze at my feet
as I thrash my body in
the deep, orange glow of night.
Little glass bottles
of Ayahuasca
shake and clank as each foot
thumps the grayish clay.
I am an earthquake–
an inevitable shift,
and slide of tectonic plates;
a crumbling bedrock,
a sticky slab of middle earth.