So swim me a river. I stand working at the edge of your bag.
Your hair is my last resort, where I walk the beach with my little umbrella.
Drink me, but forget me. The qualifier is the feeling that something is always
missing. I give advice to myself but never take it. That’s how I keep myself crazy.
Joy is a grasshopper. Now the meandering edge of the world. Quiet. Quiet, you
little muse.
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