August goes blowing by, so much cotton candy in the wind
warm air and hot sweet breath mixing to syrup
leaves drying and adding orange music to black branches reaching up
to the gypsy skies, indigo and ochre
my mind is turning to the tune of the sweeping
of the dust on the sundeck, the past days all glory and no substance
leaving nothing but dry granules and a cocked ear
I’m ready for September to launch
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