MEDICINE MAN

Thrumb, thrumb, thrumb — drum — thrumb… it pounded its code, the beating never ending. So the drums sounded, and they repetitively spelled his name. It and he, were forever here to stay. It should have come with a warning label, like, “cigarettes are addictive.” The sound was ambivalent, a supernova rhythm — lonely, but it cared. Additive! Additive! Additive! It shook me to my roots. I could feel myself reaching. I was turning weed to food, and that’s where I heard him first start teaching. Kneeling, I perceived it, and I watched his story unfold.

He maintained a gyroscopic vigour. Just standing was paralytic. He was the lifeblood of a people, sister, I loved him so I kissed her. I took his tribal medicine once and it never went away. That was just the morning and by a year he carved a second. The scientific sundial using isotopes decay, his measurements were meaningless, like words were gone astray. Wind it up, wind it up, wind it up, blow — this is how I’ll start my story none will ever… here I go.

Hold on, before I do, I must read you the warning label first, “Beware! This magic is camouflaged in writing. STOP READING NOW or you might live forever!” Now, the medicine man starts his drums.

The vapours drifted through the coherent rays of a sun lamp made it stimulated, and it radiated, “light amplification by the stimulated emission of radiation,” he remembered. He…