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Two as One 02:31
Two as One Through different eyes we see the same, not the waterfall, but the water falling, turning weightless, and in this moment finding its own shape, no longer formed by gravity. We turn our gaze and see together how the sinuous rock walls and the fingers of the trees are fluid too, how it all shimmers and sways, a rippled mirage whirling back into sudden clarity. We find our own shape, here on the edge of this liquid cliff, gushing with the splash and clamor of the falls, flowing in and out of each other, like breath, two as one.
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ham bone ham bone don't be slow ham bone ham bone where you go ham bone ham bone where you been around the world and back again
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I’ve been here before, where the rain cuts through like shards of glass flattened like a mirror drives me deep into the mouth of fog, breath still frozen, frosted with lacy flakes. This is nowhere to go crazy. this is where When I move again, I return to somewhere, anywhere there is something. the hand opens I’m done with that circle of tears where dark fears fall from a lightning cracked sky. to heal the pain It’s over. The only way out is in. let go There is nothing to say. It’s time to leave. There’s nowhere to go, so I’m off. fall through the light It might as well be a picnic, with this frayed tablecloth I keep in my back pocket to blow my nose. sears away the fears There is nothing to take. A bleeding wafer of heart between two loaves of breath is all I need. a simple flame I linger in the ghosted meadow. My soul in its blue bottle stirs the rocks to breathe. your ghost wicks up I want only to blaze my own way, all the colors inside to climb my high green hill where each star shines alone. Sure, I’ll miss the warmth of the crowd, the hungry fire never feeds the clap of strangers bumping into me, but the broken music takes me now, ears stuffed into brain. breathe and be taken in No time to stay. No reason for more of the sane. My screams fall like paper. I leave what is left for another to write. no wind flickers flame No desire for the ashes of this burning world. My breath fogs my glasses. In a dark way, I am filled with light. heat that doesn’t burn I am ready. I’ve had no sleep for weeks. My eyes open from looking inward. fall into the spiral of your own eyes I have sharpened my teeth. feast upon the rhythms of your heart Inside, it never changes. Every way I turn leads back. I awake ever closer to sleep. you bleed a light so subtle The edge of my dream cracks with beauty. i wish you could see I wish I could take you. Here in the middle of nowhere, there is so much to share. you are The silence shatters into light. here It is a miracle just to be alive. It is a miracle.
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to do what to do what what you want me you want me to do it to do it to it what what what it is it is it is it it is done here there there hear now where is it what it is two to do when we do it and do to it what we do to it here it is here here here now it is what now now what what what to do what we do from here to here it is what it is it is what we do when we do it if we do do it before we blew it before it’s even due I will do it to it too to do what I do from here to here I will it to too I will it to do it all the way through it to do what we do too blue to undo what the what what done
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Flash flesh infatuate frustrate liberate in relation inside connection, outside delusion without hesitation binaural masturbation. Inside the desert blooms sacrificial sand kills time in the hourglass. Without haste a wrinkled face settles into place, choreography calligraphy sacred empathy spontaneous symphony sodium allergy in synch out of time grinning ethereal resonating endlessly. Please, at my frequency embrace the heart with kindness, light the fire with delight!
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Hooked 06:38
Hooked It is not because no one is home that this thunder leaves me uneasy. Rain chants its mantra of falling no matter what comes to mind. The rain dashes by like a cat, and the thunder growls like a dog pulling on its chain. Water moves, always wearing down, dissolving whatever is in its way. Me, I stay put. I could be a tree how casually I wait for the storm to pass. The thunder stutters now as if to say, "Enough already." A muffled squall rages inside me. It rains here all the time. The wind pushes the tears back into my eyes. I open and close the dark window, open the window because I need to breathe. I groan in a dialect of thunder no one understands. Like a drunk stumbling home, I bellow and bawl until there is nothing to say, until I black out. I am as hooked and mangled as Hemingway's marlin. This is what it is like to be old, to be afraid to climb. (At the top of the tower, the ever turning light makes a shadow out of everything in its way.) Once the water, heavy from its journey, comes to rest, it returns to the purity of the sky. This is the teaching of the rain, the meaning of our breath, take in deeply what you may but remember always to let go.
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like someone could own this sure it changes with each step I walk in not so you would notice not all at once this land possesses us the sun cracked creek it eats my eyes underneath the marbled light fish trespass the turbid stream swollen from my melting words run the poet wind me up like a toy boat this is why I am possessed these hungry words the roiling red juice pours from my bones and I drink of myself my breath becomes light my living yes the bright air owns this body as it rides the blood
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The pavement is not real. The stars, like salt spilled on black velvet, show no sign of life, stare like glass eyes from space. Sugar Blue whines and growls his hollow ache, moans his hot harmonica wind through brass and plastic, charges the vacant night with longing. Everyone who ever plays, stretches for that note missing from the chord that binds us. Sugar digs it out, slams it down on the rough road like black ice, scrapes it against raw face like sandpaper. Inside the wrenching bend cowers a persistent yearning, a burning loneliness that drives each fragile breath we pass from lung to lung. We roll alone down this road of night that never ends, tumble like a cage of seed and thorn, from deep within our pain a stout and solitary joy begins.
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Never Ask a Poet Directions - for Jared Smith To start with don’t walk too fast. It is best to lean into each step so as to feel the ground move you. Circle to your left under the pitched arm of the burning tree twisting its flames toward the fired sky. Don't forget to duck. This way you may enjoy the exquisite pain of your passing again and again. It might go better yet to model Alice and make yourself very, very small. It may take most of your life to cross the footprint of the mother raccoon, but do not look back upon a path glittered with regret, lest you fall like tears from the eye of your own making. When you find that place where her sharp claws have punctured the dark loam, stop and rest. You may even need to sleep before you go on. Most do. You will know when you are ready: the warm heave of your breath will wake you. Of course, it is always dark. When what little light there is films the rounded stone like milky dew, it will be time to move again. Follow the ragged ravine winding to your right as if you were water. Do not fixate on the wiggle of your falling. Remember, there is nowhere to fall but down. As you catch the hang of it, you will begin to roar. The clamor of everyone you have ever known will be echoing vociferously inside you. A few lusty cries will rise from this surge only to resubmerge just as they start to make sense. You will not be missed, though it will seem like forever you are gone. Eventually, things settle down. You become as flat and smooth as a velvet pool in the moonlight. There is nothing left but yourself as far as you can see, and still you expand. You will know when you arrive because it is like you have never left. Ask a poet directions, only when you realize you have no place to go.

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Word is M. D. Friedman's original poetry set to spontaneous Native American flute compositions. It is also available with the purchase of M. D. Friedman's INTO LIGHT from Liquid Light Press' LULU Bookstore at liquidlightpress.com/IntoLight.htm.

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released July 28, 2021

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Mad Dog Friedman | Mad Dog Blues | Peddlers of Joy Lafayette, Colorado

Mad Dog writes from the moment and sings from his heart. His influences include sources as divergent as William Butler Yeats & the delta blues. His songwriting is sincere, simple & often humorous. He has recorded many solo & collaborative projects featuring his spontaneous compositions on harmonica, Native American flute & Theremin. He is also the founder of Mad Dog Blues & The Astral Project. ... more

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