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Last night I was so drunk on something more
that I thought for a wild moment that I
had no needs. That I would go to the shore,
into the wild, and let the wild reply
to my song. I’d let the sea speak for me.
I am tired of language. Tired of speaking
to get my point across. For at the sea
I am a child: naked, sun-burned, dreaming
of ships. I shall build a lovely small shrine
just for myself out of sand and seaweed
and give up on language and fickle men.
I’ll walk naked along the wild shoreline,
singing new songs, and never be worried
about being drunk or sober again.