[Marxism] Massif: chapter III

[Max Clark]

(Massif is the name of a "poem-novel" I am writing. This is its third "chapter". It's about a guy smoking the ganji spliff on a snowy soccer-field late at night -- that's it. 
 
'Legalize it! 
And don't
criticize it..' --Peter Tosh
 
I'm almost sure I'll be dead before I'm ever recognized for my talents. Excuse the Kafkaesque metamorphoses. --Max)
 
 
 
Velveteen moss populates his touch. 
Petrified barbs rake against his turbulence. 
All is nesting as fungi. 
His joint gifts enspiraled libations of incense 
to her clearing under 3am black fur hood. 
Exhaustive circumlocutions.
    Every footprint an archive. 
Time accretes as does the spiral of a snail shell. 
Ricardo tastes sooty blueberries. 
Glacial wounds melt tears into the dung-blue 
creases of his racoon-face.
    Uneven but combined liberation 
extant even in micrologies. Technology 
more human than the biological 
givens of the body. Ricardo recognizes 
himself only in his residues. He digests 
the flesh-of-the-gods. Glossy environs gyrate.
    Pearlescent void copulates with the perimeters 
of being. Resignation is will itself. 
Ressurected embers may come to sear those who once
tended them. Osmosis of individualities. 
    All technique approaches the speed of light.. 
Silence exudes dialogues unto him. A rancidity 
culled from the marrow of institutions thrashes 
within him. All aches with becoming.
    A thisness encrusted with propellant fidelity. 
He attends the compaction of the world with care. 
White lines of the field shrouded over in white. 
Hypernatural revelations.