Sweet September

The thirties are risen to begin this year
Again, maybe where they had called home
For the next planet to run and never blear
With dreams of time and the presence of loam’s ohm.

The glory of Nature's classical sexiness
Set on words of fire and letters of the Sun’s fair
To tell truths, water alone shall speak glitziness’ archness
Then again, beyond the reach of accuracy with air.

The Endless arts of nature in its advection‘s bolections
Shall sweetly caress talks of inks emblem and esteem
In witness and worth of strokes and directions
And how pens are set on, to sail on the forest to tell them

Then the endless heart of nature aped, awed, aced as a sled,
Speaks creation in endless capacities of aeriality’s atonality,  
Seducing itself for the world in the pitched whisper of the lead
In all the hows pencils know to tell, of the standing sense of reality.