"Primal Sauce, man"

Blank unfolding metaphysical pasttime.
Does it matter which coast the words rhyme
their jellyfish with as long as the soaked jeans
skim with ambivalent mould.
Researching the foundations of magical knowledge
I find the quantam link between all cosmic notions
of deathlessness.
I am Consciousness and the undying silence
is mightier than the trill of the quill.
Beyond the vanity of Jerusalem monkeys
St Paul's trip falls sideways
into Gnostic reminiscences.
I was Philip in the desert as he
dreamed of the Magdalen's kiss.
"For the good are not wholly good
nor the wicked wholly wicked,
nor is life merely life,
nor death merely death;
each will return to its primal source."