tall tale poem

I sat on a red rock
brittle with sun. A man
with a face the color of a cooked prawn
came up holding out gnarled fists.
A big sycamore hissed
in a little wind.
Sometimes it seems
the whole mountain lists
on days like this.
A big man with a scar on his jaw.
He turned to me.
He said how'd you like to see
a rock that knows everything.
Sees everything.
Can tell you
everything you need to know.
I said all right.
I said tell me.
It was polished and blue
and pierced through
with light.
Something big licked down
electric veins of calcite.
He dropped it in my palm.
Roused calm
coursed, receded.
The reeds dark flues
on a whole earth seeded
and new.
I staggered through.
The sycamore curled
its hundred spiky tongues.
The whole world
poured into my lungs.