San Jose / Marin

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I Have Always Thought

I have always thought it curious that on the releasing moon all the rushing green leaves furiously circulated around you, except for the blowing wind which was always ancient

still, I was born on top of a long and crooked branch with trickling creek sounds that perfectly touched you and were rather cool in these dead, disintegrating shades, I

enjoyed the fact on one side of this little fallen log, millions of mosses didn't mind that you were quickly communicating with me with your regular out-breathes, breathing so

normally on the way back to earth, you were immensely black--and practised this total unity with an effortless experience of stillness, it seemed to me that we spent most of

our time discussing, immeasurably what color the moon could be possibly, I watched as the size of the limitless earth was possibly compared to your stretching breasts which

were pressing and pushing your ribs, across our ocean of fragile air, which suddenly I saw as a sad curved line of blue light, a thin and fragile atmosphere which looked like the

mighty Pacific ocean as I was quickly traveling within you at a speedy four miles a second, it took me just twenty-five minutes to cross you and I knew finally that you were big.

Like A Relieved Survivor

You had this sad, resigned look, like a relieved survivor, yet you looked younger than your lucky years, your second space walk had been much less stressful, you did it in

your sleeveless t-shirt which had so much pressing work to do, the flying grass hoppers were crawling on your faded jeans which were sensationally surging in the warm winds,

behind greenish faces of dark emptiness, the shrinking moon tightly gripped the dark rings that hugged your puppy-dog eyes, your burned, pursed lips exploded into a familiar

brilliant red, which roared with grizzly seductions into these thin, distant trees which were yellowish and dry, seemingly made up of eight different bands of bright color, I quietly

saw your dark brown hair, I somehow pictured always knowing, where I would be in it, just leaking through the smeared fragments of barbed wire fences, we always found

ourselves by tracking those shadowy stars--until they stopped, since it was us, carelessly blocking their limitless light.

Subtle Nuances

Your beauty consists of subtle nuances, like homeless people hanging out in an unknown street, wondering, if they would get to eat, and sometimes you look a bit like

these African sandstorms pissing and freezing in areas dried out and filled up with women that are damned, the kind that always kick back on black sinister beaches near

Hana on Maui, I see myself from space, as one more person among the millions that have known you curiously, your supernatural brown eyes riding in an empty saddle, like

lights flickering and listening through a network of impulsive structures and grim channels, approaching this violent sexual intensity, that knocks at your strange ideas of

evening sex, that describe a weightless kind of lust that defies neccessarily the laws of gravity, I have learned to implicitly trust you because after your kind ballistic heart was

won, I discovered amazingly, a love that was totally complete and so miraculously transformational, these carefuly observed feelings were hilariously launched in the

earliest spring, but were able to just last until that unbearable winter arrived with its heavy fields drooped in those fragrant snows, that were also patient and strong enough to

make you spill your darkest secrets to me, it was all this complete harmony which so glided effortlessly--in such a diminishing, unhurried way.

It Didn't Seem Like A Friendly Place

It didn't seem like a friendly place with its cold winds and ugly, big overcast skies, I looked at her pure face and drew limitless courage from her hot breasts which shook

then violently and tasted of sweet tea, I could see the sleeping earth with its blue glow just below me, its fetal clouds spreading outwardly, inactive cardboard masks, these

shredded curtains hovering above the haunted terrains that troubled the dark edges of the Tigris river, it was a deep and etched pattern of absolute streams with parallel shadows, I

saw the human currents that were bitter and undrinkable, the slow drifting fault-lines of the Persian Gulf were this gold, yellow with a slight sprinkling of trees drifting, behind a

background drone that ghostly rose up and caused the temperature of her serene lips to quickly increase, as I touched them with my freezing finger-tips, the earth seemed to be

indifferent to this carnal mischief, unfolding about eighty miles above the dark surface.


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All contents of this site © Finberg Books by Michael Arthur Finberg