Jung’s Magic Book of Symbols

by Gino Sky

My head. A ragged beard
covered
with snow. Burning candles for

heat.
Using the ’lectric toaster through

the inner–spirit

the expense of being winterized

a luxury. Saved only for the
service station’s harem.

The postfreudian heart show
down
the Danube
A lack of oxygen Be–

Ins. Can

I be IN & still feel
the
touch of man on my face.

Ready for the Acid Test?

Ready for the invisible land
at
my throat. Mouth. The Pioneer Spirit
reaches
its own renaissance.

In

the
loins.

In
side the migration.
Melting history into wax amulets.
Intentions.

’Lapsing into silence.
The sea begins again. Human
shape
reforms itself into beauty.

Touch me

where the world begins.

Touch you
and
the sun inside
of
You.

The 12 signs inside of me. The
zodiac
all being me.
Not one month
not a Leo. Not
one
chapter of the I Ching at any moment
of
arrival. All the text from
where
I stand holding the sun & earth between
my
thighs.

Once I ask
the sticks roll coins in changes
my footing.

A difference of prayer. A
difference of

motion.

Inside

time to roll through

The action of arrival

the prayer understood.