Where is your truth now, August?
Creeping over my July, your spiderly
Wisdom sketching tantrums of pith
Into my pores Ink me Wrap
Around these dangerous days to
Protest cruelty and carelessness
They are not virtues, they are blots
On the face of time passing. Be on
The lookout, August, be prepared for
Surprises and outrageous behavior
Before the dance is done and the
Ill-begotten prize is won
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