In Hawaii’s oceanic rush: the wave thermidor.
Looking at life things are very literal.
There are no pirates, in this mind:
I stand quite out.
There is no agenda, in this mind, it is an organic thing.
Parade toy soldiers of the mind, and miss me there:
I won’t go to that place.
I’m a helicopter bug and I fly there, fly, fly simply
In pleasant boredoms of a hammock strung between two mango trees
In Hawaii’s oceanic rush: the wave thermidor.
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