Pontificatorily (stage 2)
Where then have all the beleaguered thoughts
They tarry into yesteryear.
What state of such recompose has lingered in
that going by?
It’s one I swear I’ll never count again.
But what then of the illusory
non-matter that fills in all the strings and quarks
luminating your personisphere?
The dillydally you think of least
is the act you most regret
—that from which you most persevere.
It’s a sobering thought to get along
the thing you can’t remember
if you ever told yourself not
but you don’t mind much
that it griddles and grinds you;
you still do everything you can to pursue.