Deadin front of mecatafalqued kingmy own ocean;oncesappy as a sprung firin the green turmoil,once seedto sea-quake,tidal wave, nowsimplydead remains;in the whole marketyourswas the only shape leftwith purpose or directionin thisjumbled ruinof nature;you area solitary man of waramong these frail vegetables,your flanks and prowblackand slipperyas if you were stilla well-oiled ship of the wind,the onlytruemachineof the sea: unflawed,undefiled,navigating nowthe waters of death
-Pablo Neruda
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