Falling apart like the idea of ink
And I am broken like these blackened lines,
And in all these moments I have secrets.
I will tell you things that are like the clouds
And no rescue can come if you desire it.
So tell me a story of your sad life,
Single syllables like a Latin page
(Fine points like oil on the sea's dead floor)
And when I am again a wave
I will be without bars.
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