San Jose / Marin

01 - 02 - 03 - 04 - 05


I heard the word ignition, as the tree dust blew outside my window,
I was leaving the planet now, the white noise, its plastic pollens living on the edge of
town, I thus went further into those dark moments, unbuckled myself, as nothing
remained underneath me, like a weightless cactus, I floated and uttered the verbal
spells of white twisted clouds with shades of blue radio chatter, that disappeared into
those substatic regions too deep for dispassionate shadows to probe fitfully,
During my first unfulfilled view, close to these green leaves of ocean, silently rimmed by
the earth's missing spectacle of snow, red flowers hanging triumphant, dwelling deeply,
with a dreamless sleep, that petered into a slow crab-like meaning, instructing the
planet, as if through a bull-horn that brilliantly existed in New Zealand,

I heard the word ignition, as the blackness of space began sprinkling outside my window,
I welcomed the home planet, as I was pounding my fists like a familiar siren,
blowing off these transcendent blessings of the sun, its space-suit touching the floating
hatches of the planet's muttering orbits, which touched me in such unknown ways, vast
and deep, allowing me soon to hear my own body,

my heart beating a unique fear, my blood vessels pulsing this over-lapping kindness,
so wild in its rustling, with muscles as vast as these pinkish stars, hidden by blue lights,
so violently defended like holy relics, that burned with a silent pressure, that flinged
itself as if inhaling a velocity so outward, that only I could successfully set it ablaze,
as I heard the word ignition, for the first time like a divine lightning pouring forth
earth's glowing organ pipes....

Tremendous Brightness

The tremendous brightness of your light came as a surprise to me, your bright red hair floated out and strictly speaking this temptation was not allowed,

nor your blue eyes which put this far away stress on me, I was gripped by an agonizing posture, by your zen flash jeans that drooped down towards your black shoes,

and that circled your waist below your redeeming breasts hidden by a black shirt, I entered your deepest shadow, I then shuddered in the middle of your deepest art-works,

I held your hand and did not monopolize your time, your lucid radiances were lost in the silence of our breaths which reminded me of Christmas ornaments hanging in the doomed blackness of space.

I moved closer to your face and touched your swinging lips with my lucky fingers, the laws of physics told me, you were the finest of space-crafts which suddenly made

your divine orbits around the strange planet that was me, something that clicked simply, like a master utensil which could never be diminished in scope, this was the cosmic

jewlery that you wore always in honor of the world, I gentley blew the flickering flames and entered your golden door.

The Deadest Traffic

You were beyond the deadest traffic noise with these pretty things that you made, your long dark brown wavy hair, your fairest skin, the Irish thing--which was expressed with a

moral vigor, with light blue eyes, that loved interesting people, that were more comfortable in a pair of low hung jeans and a chloe blouse, which according to some interpretations

can be nectar rendering, especially in a broom closet at a boring party, your serious look takes you to distant galaxies--that blow snow from sweeping gusts near the bizzare silent

sun, it's all in the sad braids of your hair, also your harmless baseball cap, and your long neck, so strong and lean that it quickly jumps down towards your long, white legs and big

feet, listen--the scenic views from the billowing hills hint that Saturn is nearby with its dirty hands, contemplating, perhaps impatiently, which excessive fingers will signify how

serious our new relationship will be, when the mysteries are completely revealed, but the murkiness continues to hold its place, like patches of ice which are pock-marked and

spotted with all kinds of fungus and moss, spilled harmlessly onto your palms which sweat and which hold me with accurate mischief--when we swim into the pitch black

ocean--and discover that soon we are slowly in orbit--around loose, wooden floor boards, that have yet, to burn down.

Coming Back

When I came back after just twelve days, from the complete Gaian feast,
I felt fuller and softer, the streets and the cars were a speedy and silent
scenery of a purposeful weightlessness, that was earthly and drunken,
rich with intense flashes of violent lightnings linked forever to scattering

cities larger than velvety spiderwebs which rattled in a chaotic vacuum
of mercy, beyond any previous experience that had ever occured to me
with a most humbling feeling, as the furious concentrated sound of
tommorow stepped up and whispered to me and pressed its melancholy
goodnesses to my limitless ears.


01 - 02 - 03 - 04 - 05

All contents of this site are copyright by Michael Arthur Finberg