high up above the hills
they grow cold
they shiver
as the moon waxes
they loose magic
they cry
for a way out
and Mr. earthquake
hears them
he unleashes
one of his renowned shakes of fluff
opening the dam like a clam
my words now
freely, flow down
pouring into the towns
imposing
that dryness of language
is no longer the norm
people's linguistic pipes
are unclogged
words now run through the streets
causing merry havoc
lifting skirts of impatience and anticipation
showing glimpses of what they can not describe
my words
they cascade until the cascading's caput is cut
then they rest
the lazy river, they join
undulating liquid snake
all the way
to the brink of river-ness
to the birth of endless
to the big wide blue
oceanic words
my words become
ever changing this fickle words
they keep me going these humless words
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