July, July

July, July
rain from the skie-s
will it be tomorrow, to wait
or today will change the same–

July, July
magical month running bye
to the middle of the month-to middle of the year
the weather falls onto hands
to
the great green dress
and to
exciting plans…

July, July
my muse, and so much more
to bring tears and then joy,
to sigh, late nights un-thread
dorothy’s shoes signing on tampered ground,
looking up, looking down,
no one else -you expect- to be around
-just you and that little voice in your head;
oh, that beautiful sound!

July, July
not for the perfect or the clean
but for the sinful and the mean;
for the honest and the playful
for the poor and the hopeful…

July, July
nothing really matters, when…
the clouds are dropping sunday pies.
nothing really matters, but
lying by…

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One response to this post.

  1. Posted by rosinha on July 12, 2010 at 9:01 pm

    july, july
    when kookaburras fly…

    Reply

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