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I am waking from a nap
the long kind
like rising from a grave
my eyes behind my brain
the people so alive
I could reach out and touch them
but never do
They wouldn't let me anyways

those places in the open
are not mine
they are for the ones who go sailing
and taste the sanded edges of a clear existence
I can see them up there
as I swim for the
clear air
soft breeze
of a nap in which I do not feel the
need to sink deeper
but float on the surface as the others turn their heads and see

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