The clouds are words I have to reasonably
believe. I don't know which direction is
up or down, where thought ends and language
begins. The rain is falling in a language
that is misunderstood by a failing reason
and unbridled skepticism. The water is
the muttering of the land, a chant that's
mumbled of the high things. This language
understands our thinking, or is reason
dead? I believe that reason is language.
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