July the 5th; heresiarchs at play
with phrases. Intellective prophecies
mercurial in character. I say
the words inspired of me, speak the verse
breathed into me by weather. Pressurized
air masses in conflict--summer's a time
of home and hearth, maternal in its wet,
expressive business. Full with verdant green,
the hills look ripe with love; a dew collects
on tender plants, a doctrine spurns the growth
of river oaks. My natal situation
makes me the instrument of mysteries
sacred and ridiculous, order revealed
amongst a labyrinthine playing mind.
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