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Nature's memory

  The soil touches your feet.  Heaven below. As the sky and winds play with your hair. Heaven above. Voices of leaves rustle their poems. The memory of you is not so far away.  As nature has never forgotten you even one thousand dreams away.
Autumn is a Greek sea,
A summation of wet leaves,
Gathered wicks of sunset,
A hypocaust of warm water,
That lies beneath our feet,
Incense from the Sea of Crete,
Risen to the airy suggestive.

Autumn is a word in the mind, fallen leaf-like to the mouth,
How like the orange rind, our ancient past is shriveled under pillars.
“Hypocaust” is essentially a hollow space under the floor where a furnace then supplied heat to homes, a central heating system some references date back to Ancient Greece but certainly prevalent in Ancient Rome.
The nights are
filled with corrupt
doctors and cops.
Justice, like a dog bite.
Madmen prey on
the weak and needy.
This seedy town ain't got
nothing for me.
I'm heading out west,
get a longboard
ride the breeze, and
taste the waves...
all the way to
Hawaii baby.
Pretty things fly
away.
Nothing stays for
long.
Before the wings
get tattered and shorn,
the sky calls, and all the
pretty things fly away.
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