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morning 108

i raise the cup unto my lips
the rapid neon halo shifts
the negromantic parallel
above the bluish cloudy scene.
hands pointing up as if to pray,
solitary line from east to west
point the wand towards the ground
rest your ankles in the square,
point the eyes at the brain and
whisper words that take you there
and chant those tones that come alive
to shake the stone you're standing on.
the golden muse of Euripides
plants herself upon my lap.
giant steps make thunderous sounds,
fling shadows across the burning sea,
and give our eyes a brighter span
to portion out each manic trance
and line them up beneath the dew
and spread them out above the clouds.
we'll show our kids which way to go
avoiding bruise of puncture wounds
for blood removed unwillingly
to scarcely tread where darkness hangs.
and practice all the specialties
that spells the sufi's mantric glance,
wards off all the circling jinns,
recite the poems of ancient cures.