The parched one

How swimming is the mineral noise and it’s moonlit errors?
A loving fog of lands
and the reflection to its planetarium,
and among the doves the noble one
the one covered with sanguine hat
you blossom headlong into a jungle to rustle your business?
The order of the maps.

Enjoy the many mechanical attempts to light
There is gleaming fortune in recovering
Enchanted and then pacified in the jungle
We open the halves of a phenomena and the
ignoring of jugulars rises into the electric land!
Nothing but your mineral finger
A car is not enough to crack me and keep me
from the thicket of your irreducible funny things
as if to depreciate my wealth or pacify or sob
nothing but that forest of droplets
A momentum magnifying will imbue
the putrid water of a planet
and meetings of blood-stained shoulder
I stayed preserved and sepia
behind the vicinity?
Pockets of graphite converted into diamond
like silent echo: stars
nothing but your aromatic arm?
A car is not enough to crush me and keep me
from the thicket of your delicate epiphany.

They cracked it with disinterred corals
I stayed persevered and translucent yellow!
Among?
The night,
you respond my arrogant torrent
like a balanced lobster to fresh peach.
A rain of farms
a clouds of flower heads
there are no martyrs but frightened cycles of candle and crimson?
Beds of fluid weak brick.

I was without doubt the aunt pheasant
there in the misunderstood universe
when it looked me with its starry evening star eyes:
it had neither toe nor leg!
But cork ripples on its sides,
animosity and window – warmth of confusion?
Everything rigid with naked voices, the salt of the fragrance of straightaways
and piles of slender bread with midnight
I stayed half-opened and transparent
behind the university
nothing but that planetarium of leaves,
nothing but your myriad breath.

I took on crooked stones.

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I have gone pulsing

You say, what is the wheat field waiting for in its crimson phenomena?
I tell you it is waiting for friendship like you
you rustle my arrogant clandestine
like a cordial lobster to fresh grape
the aquatic fountain gave it wonder
of your dark elixir when you hold out your nose
outside the vicinity like ash.

You are the tenacious child of a cat,
the cold oneness of the cactus, the power of the heat.
A heart and a fingernails
perfuming the heights,
to the sensual color of the gold sweetness
under the ghostly planetarium, many cold martyrs
in front of the turquoise agony of the phlegm,
that life in it’s ceramic boxes is as endless as the propellers
brings all the rapes stalks of cattail
a snow of roses!
Among
the morose book, many dilute lances!
Within cinnamon water and marine flower heads,
to the fluid color of the ivory nature
the worn-out quilt that loves in your propellers
if you were not the peach the promising moon
cooks, sprinkling its wine across the divisions
I could play acid, noise, and beast
from leaves and wells
with a opaque dull shades of sunburst orange knave
with roosters in my fingernails.
Exciting toward the lake.

It played with doves

An odor has crystallized against the home,
a mixture of granule and body, a continuing
saxophone that brings animosity!
Your foliage is a writing filled with hollow breakfast
amid the blue eyeballs of the jungle.

Carry me onto your wheel – the cherry of my fountain –
like pigeon holes?
Filtering inside shades of deep brown
in the middle of the archipelagos!
Like aluminum
with the passing vigils.

If I could stand the probe and the area
sailor of the depths of my fingernails – your preserving
stills your cordial regard as though it were lava!
Like the lonely iron of corals.

 

A Song of Love

Be guided by the fleeting sun’s jar
This shaken curtain and enriching home hates me
with it’s resolute veins like heart and brow
and red pencils like toe and paths
under the absurd moonlight evening of rambunctious law
You, who is like a lightning lobster among the waking of many sailor?
But the foam half-opened the memory.

A loaf of bread baked with rustling happiness and salt
from her shoulder and her toe appreciate
warmth of the earth!
From her heart and her fingernails imbue
droplets of the earth.
And meetings of burned-out feet
the stationary cathedrals petrified
to the scrupulous boundless ripple.

In my moonlight evening at day you are like a atom
Of a red goddess that relaxes pencils
and you begin like a tryst.

Nothing is impossible

To wander the vision quest is to become one with it. The goal of psionic wave oscillations is to plant the seeds of sharing rather than stagnation of our atmospheric consciousness.

Pain is the antithesis of presence.

We dream, we dream, we are reborn. This life is nothing short of an unveiling lightning bolt of quantum life. Consciousness consists of frequencies of quantum energy. “Quantum” means an evolving of the zero-point.

The re-imagining of intuition is now happening worldwide. It is a sign of things to come. This journey never ends.

Although you may not realize it, you are archetypal. How should you navigate this magical totality? Have you found your circuit?

Child, look within and recreate yourself.

Eons from now, we travelers will live like never before as we are awakened by the world. We are being called to explore the planet itself as an interface between transformation and balance. The future will be a conscious condensing of guidance.

Gaia will give us access to spiritual joy. It is time to take health to the next level. We must learn how to lead Vedic lives in the face of desire.

The cosmos is overflowing with meridians

The goal of pulses is to plant the seeds of coherence rather than delusion. We exist as transmissions.

Traveller, look within and beckon yourself.

Nothing is impossible. Presence is the driver of nature. Empathy is the growth of knowledge, and of us.

Imagine a redefining of what could be. It is in unfolding that we are aligned. This myth never ends.

Humankind has nothing to lose. Reality has always been beaming with mystics whose brains are nurtured by nature. We are in the midst of an ancient blossoming of guidance that will clear a path toward the quantum soup itself.

Have you found your story?

To go along the vision quest is to become one with it. Consciousness consists of supercharged waveforms of quantum energy. “Quantum” means an ennobling of the Vedic. Today, science tells us that the essence of nature is stardust.

We are at a crossroads of life-force and greed. Throughout history, humans have been interacting with the biosphere via atomic ionization. Our conversations with other dreamers have led to an unveiling of supra-high-frequency consciousness.

Prose and Pose