will free his genes. Finally, some good news!
The white man with lesions and blond sandy hair
will splice him up some ill dinkums and fair.
.
(C)
In the naked, ancient dreamtime we share
to the sound of winsome didgeridoos,
lit by bowls of genius goldfish, we fuse
our wisdom -- hologram time -- disappear
into interlaced visions, lost between
the Pinnacles as between game pieces
or continents drifting, fractured voices
of gods moving from phoneme to phoneme.
The real reconciliation we seek
takes place in the cosmic dissolution
of material and mind's confusion,
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