--Man be my Metaphor, D.T. Infante Supram
Come to me Letter Scarlet and Gilded,
Embroidered with that Great Massachusetts.
Her stitches as Gossamer as Dewlettes
Intricate feathers paint the Dawn with It
Before it is Quartered the Sun Bows Down
Forward and across hsi back is Drawn
And though on Chariot, draws its Arrows
It lands at the Spine of the ANkle’s Frown
Rings of an Alphabet Cosmos even
Beads in Velvet, Silky as iGreen Moss
And Delicate as Treasure of Nothing ( oh )
A Sound Triumphs through the Silence and Breathes
Veiled in Multiple Crescendo’d Belief
The Sun as it Falls also RIses
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