Sitting in the hot baked grave,
Deep beneath the hot hot sun.
The great waves upon waves echoing.
As it echoes in my ear drum like a spiraling
Masterpiece of sound shaped like a sea shell.
I hear everything I can.
The traces of my mind linger.
In this house built without windows.
Where would I be without you under a different solstice,
Where the past consumes me....
Where the future rests.
And the eyes of the Holy ghost preside in me.
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