A Berry Sacrifice

There exists a giant
shimmering and strobing
black-as-the-fucking-void
bonfire in the hidden hills
of central Alberta,
and I know ‘cause I collected the kindling.

We got kids out here doing
fucking insane triple backflips
off a slackline strung through towering poplars
and commiserating in smiling ecstasy
with the flame as it screams higher
and higher and
higher up to the hurtling moon.

And right now, I am kneeling on the uneven ground.

I am thinking of all the years I was going to spend being shuffled
through sad shambled offices in grad school.
Thinking of basement apartments where the light
doesn’t reach through the windows.
Knowing that it wasn’t long before they came for me and my friends anyway.

Thinking when in the fuck has transformation ever come without sacrifice
as I gorge myself on rocky mountain juniper berries
until they poison me and I fucking die
and my body is thrown into the howling fire
while the kids dance in reverent frenzy
and the fire swallows our planetary orbit –
the moon and all satellites come crashing to the ground,
splitting all of our cities asunder,
and remaking the landscape with billions of beautiful little craters
filled with perfect orbs
of rainbow-colored, everlasting flame.