Sheezahee

Sheezahee

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Frail vessel in the roaring forties, tormented off the capes and rocked by the swell Sheezahee lays out the sea on his own, singing for the glory of the foam a bunch of dishevelled birds laugh & swap feathersat the height of the dark waves We think we dream. we dream. We think we wake up. we do. The sea is here, full, black, huge heart of the crowd in the darkened room. Under the electric sky we drift into the night

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