Fly Agaric !

Ceiling Toadstools in Porcelan by Carsten Höller

Another ekphrastic piece from the workshop…

But fly agaric, not so fast.

I think that you misunderstand -

I spoke your name, but not command;

as ‘hang in there’ is your reply,

with hint of magic mushroom speak,

I’m keeping my feet on the ground.

It cost me, sixties, £sd,

those flights of fancy, Kubla Khan,

my extraterrestrial mind,

as psychedelic orbits found

around my skull within my head

before black holes became the norm.

Above your bulb, though underneath,

in ceiling sunk, mycelium;

I root my worldview, gravity.

These humans stand too stable here

to be space station sentinels

afloat, as upside down, in fact.

I doubt those floor lights might be fans;

more likely planned exhibit scams.

But few harms done by second look,

another scan, fresh point of view,

in changed perspective, new field probed.

That is a rôle of poetry.