by Jerry Ratch
We all heard the audible skill you had, speaking smoothly of our lives, saying audibly what has driven us, who are huge with night, rising with its origin inside, and clear water running past, beyond, behind, and after us.
To honor, to fear utterance in the form of this song we have known with our own ears. Such long singing in the form of an energy along the shores where they sing in great numbers (we have all known them), the unmarried, uncelebrated lives of the women equally present around us under the rosy moon.
Under cloud, the cloudy sky, mist, fog, smoke; you've heard them, their locks, their curls weighed down with mist, salt wind, rainstorm, thundercloud, stilled by their audible voices drawing us in.
We were changeable after such worlds, but un-darkened, living. You who are admired from the living shore, in truth, in reality, how the famous and their mere vanity come to bear fire among us.
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Adulterated Memoirs
Like what you've done here, Jerry. The third paragraph is a gem.
Thank you so much, Christian!