Today, you will leave the universe
how its spans: world rotating on its
canvas of day & night, birds flocking
in formative obedience of the wind's
mouth; the active or passive voice you'd
take with members of the office. For words
occur when the need for words arises.
You speak not of weather, how cars
choreograph their dance of swerves &
short rage; or politics governed by the
hues of faces in the office. Tongues
will bless or curse the world as how
the leaves fall with wind's command.
You map yours by the pen in your hand.
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