“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

Tastes like peach and feels like peach fuzz,

Such a speck as a peach might have,

And through the fence of peach blooming flesh

Though this criss-crossed fleshmesh
Tastes like peach and feels like peach fuzz,
All utterly mergings of gold and green and red,
Sunnily rendered, dizzy and delicious,
Still, touching it with eyes is like peering
Through a fence
With wires cunningly connected,
A million to an inch.

The wind on the arm blows the hair,
And at the base, a golden mole,
Such a speck as a peach might have,
But the hair arches back to show a gaping hole,
And each ounce of flesh is a fence,
Erected roundly and snug
About hidden landscapes, suns, and shadows,
Inroads laced with prickly shrubs.
Peer through. The holes are not big enough to see much,
But dreams travel wondrous wires.
Fires brighter than autumn moons
Throw leaping shadows on the arm.
Days and nights burn like stars
In the twinkling meadows of the skull,
And through the fence of peach-blooming flesh,
Other fruits blossom, beyond reach.

(“How about canned peaches?”)

[...] A peach as it might be seen, or a pear, by a squirrel.

[...] You look at the outsides of yourselves as if a peach were aware only of its skin. [...]

If you recall, I told you that the psychological time experiments would prove more fruitful now, but Ruburt really came up with a peach.

[...] Eating peaches or sitting on beaches.... [...]