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  • I was riding that wave away from you
    out into that no horizon blue
    I was paginating the days away

    Me and my keys...every seventh wave I'd get a word
    I'd carry that word all sodden and precious back to my watery lair and
    stow it with seaweed and collected rubbery hair

    down in old silver chests old rusted locks old syllables crying to be let loose of their Neptune
    patina I'd hoard found paragraphs, lumps located under fish school transluscencies, wordy
    lumps I held under my armpit as I surfed the waves

    I've been away sailing waves to the silky horizon

    I've been collecting word night admiring my beauties my bounty my word parade

    By morning throwing them all away

    out to the ocean
    letting them drift to someone else's keyboard desert isle.
    Surf, admire, stroke, dream, throw away.

    The glory of riding the long writing wave.

    (Photo by Susan, Spain)
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