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  • Rolled up all tight like that at the foot of Ana Purna,
    Saturn throws his outer rings out like a ring toss game at a carnival
    and over the summit.

    me ? ! A cup half full!

    A sow bug armored in a grey ribbed shell,
    chanting a Soul Coughing tune over and over again like a mantra.

    I am translating the Tibetan Book of the Dead into Arabic.
    I am covering my eyes with a pillow of mist .
    I am traveling this last bit of rocky treacherous trail as I grab handlfuls of huckleberries off tender limbs.
    I set the bar to match 14 thousand feet where peak meets heaven where
    the finest gasses of atmosphere shift
    and change into soulfulness.

    I am Chanting Down Babylon &
    rocking back &
    I hail midsummer becoming the Light of the Shore
    I bind myself to heaven and earth


    quietly listening to the the pingy pangy sound of the tap of my foot
    against the glass door that separates us
    from our fate.
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