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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

to do,

but you don’t mind much

that it griddles and grinds you;

you still do everything you can to pursue.

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