This afternoon,
chriscrick took me and
hans_the_bold out sailing on the Long Island Sound. We worked the jib; he had the mainsail and steered. The sky was summer-swimming blue and the wind was steady, and the sea was sunlit green and there were seals on the rocks. Drifts of rust-colored seaweed floated past in the water. There is salt crystallized in my hair and my right hand is blistered; I went barefoot until we got back to campus, and my corduroys are soaked through at the knees. I am much, much better.
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Active Entries
- 1: I make sure there are hidden messages in my work
- 2: I cannot feel it, the veil of black, a fine spray of white paint
- 3: Pilgrimage, private life, mortality
- 4: My dream house is a negative space of rock
- 5: Your spirit watched me up the stairs
- 6: No, I'll build a cute flower border
- 7: If you don't want the death of the party after I'm gone, sing one for me
- 8: Life, a series of memorials and signals
- 9: Once you've gone, remains the question, baby
- 10: Does everybody know he's a ghost?
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- Style: Classic for Refried Tablet by and
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