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And the sea wave, wasted on its want, too, takes the method to
heart and crashes against. Life-like, I waste, too. My hit comes
again and the green breath breaks against as for rock leaping at
and far beyond the surface, its wet fiction, the facts of fracture
mere seed locked down in the wave. O well with a false bottom,
no, pit, undrinkable, I drink from you and dawn to find I drank.
I am no current but a bolt. This time I will exit myself, sure, but
then again I wonder through a valley with an exit sign every time.
My hit comes again and the jealous breath breaks. My hell come
again and again and against. That old edge. Like breathing so life-
like breath wastes itself over me. There was a time the tremor
came and halved the vane it struck with a love like a bell that rang
to the body of the sea. There was that jolt. But I’m no current but
a volt and chain. And control, that thing with a hull with a hole.
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