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sleep drifting in and out, empty eyes in winter's cool breath, breathe that warm desert air, it's a strange day, a weird year; smiling back at death, the end, those so white teeth glowing when the blacklite gets hotter, it's a chill afternoon, and the steam is temporary, but it hovers so elegantly, writing eloquently a poem in the blue breeze: it tingles.

spiral patterns drawn in sand, they're ancient, they're real, it's dusty and the earth slips through fingers, falling, here; our spirits are green, floating through the static, the tripping noise that filtered itself: self-correcting, the tempo goes side to side, and we're in a faded dream where the music is insubstantially perfect, like a peyote trance, dancing 'round the fire, we rise and we burn.

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The following comments are for "tripping in fire"
by verve

very visual
While reading your poem I visualized what you were saying.Very nicely written .Reminds me of something Jim Morrision would have wrote.I love reading what you wrote,they all have a different feel to them.

( Posted by: anya_awaits [Member] On: May 7, 2002 )

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