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The
Toughest Day
Listening
to this mind associate without trimmings,
pruning, judgings, denying, the black birds whistle
on the power lines, sweeter twitters spread out
across
these cold winds, ducks splashing in a wet
paradise, a ferment of elixirs of freedoms that cannot
be described, twittering wings that flutter, cars zooming
by,
in this bleated hurry, they dont want to give lifts to
anyone,
even to the U.S. Marines, who cautiously advance between
strange houses close to the Euphrates river, Tobys red
barn,
a
brick hotel, these patriots of peace, driving on California's
Highway One, Point Reyes, an ostrich in a cage, ducks flapping
in the marshes of Nasariya, a paradise of God.
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A
Sufi Saint
I
see a woman as she takes her sunglasses off and reveals
these penetrating blue eyes, filled with disturbing pock-marks,
then a horses grin, white skin and small breasts, and
shes
just here, she eats cookies, and drinks tea, and looks inside
silently, her dreams tell here forever that she has reached
the
holy spot.
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Vibrations
The
sea crashes the beaches gently, as the dissipating fogs
lose their struggle with this disturbed sun, a distant seagull
can barely be seen as it flaps its wings silently, gentle goes
this breeze, even as the vibration of the earth increases, its
magnetism, these reflections of crystalline resonance, every
place is like a tuning fork for feelings of an extreme bliss,
these multiple intersections with extended energy lines across
the turbulent planet, a high tech provided by the mind for any
kind of advanced psychic trance, the spinal columns of our
breathing swiftly inside the oceans and the perceiving earths
core.
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A
vast life
I
saw her face, this vast life filled with self-created
rose gardens, her Isis thighs, filled they were with
bliss waves of serpent power, her cosmic breasts filled
with sweet holocausts of divine abundances, mean
and heavy with the laughing elixirs of mercury, her
spinning
bare feet touching the wet sands, as the vast
oceans roared the dangerous groans of her big jeweled
out-spread hands, touching my earth-bound memories
the wish-fulfilling gems that burned in her magic face.
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Fire
in My Heart
The fire is deeply veiled in her kind heart,
the
disturbing legs cross mid-air, as they lift
the
healer's hardest jobs, a great responsibility
inhaling
thus consciously,
the
challenging enterprise of her lovely bodies, the
spiritual
oceans abate with highly pitched fevers,
the
increasing
spine straightens
lenghtening
through the healing crowns of the head,
the
the divine yoga of her conscious breasts, the
infinite path that her receptive heart now
exceedingly
accesses,
those
remarkable points of her dimly desired object,
breathing
in the oceans and then breathing them out
swiftly.
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Waiting
for the Sea
I
can feel her soft breath now, she is so close,
trapped
in the sand, in the waves, that crash
with
foam like yoga, stretched on the floor, both
legs
raised and extended, lightly touching the vast
plains
strewn with the craters, the pelvis, elbows,
lifting
up, inhaling the rigid and wrinkled seas, whose
lips
kiss me with a tongue--not lacking in spiritual
truth,
which curls forward to support me, grasping
both
knees and clasping the sea.
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All
contents of this site © Finberg Books 2000-2004 by Michael Arthur
Finberg
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