I'm so damned literary
and at the same time the waters rushing past remind
                                                              me of nothing

I'm so damned empty
what is all this vessel shit anyway
we are all rushing down the River Happy Times

ducking poling bumping sinking and swimming
and we arrive at the beach
the chaff is sand
alone as a tree bumping another tree in a storm
that's not really being alone, is it, signed The Saw

from Frank O'Hara's "Poem En Forme De Saw"
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