Comma

Thoughts wander without me. Dubious as water, a projecting rib from the womb of words. Small as a seed I float rootless and fluent containing the pause before an exclamation. There seems some disagreement as to my proper use and aesthetic value. Why me, why not an asterisk or parentheses? Sleeping in ink and suddenly waking up misplaced is startling to say the least. To be sloughed off as a semicolon even for an instant is for me a grave disgrace. My simplicity and strength lies in anticipating hesitation. The nobility of order in the masonry of conjunctional phrases, balanced, polished and precise. I am the pr oportion of climax cut and measured like a precious stone.

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