wit of single intelligence
that's all I'm thinking bout
rappataptap on the walk side
I sense a beginner
or since, people's paces in the station
pay mathematical attentions
what a hairy old man cactus
sticking like a sore thumb
a desert microphone
need not know everything at any moment
all that remains are plans of plans
in my task list
no compute r
the occasional stuck key
he must've thought
forget me all everything
leave me to my worries
and boy how they are many
pal,
I am left
only assurances
take me along
he makes hearts pitter-patter
Yet I'm not up for that vicious number
He done no wrong, draws down fog in his mind.
I am bored with the horror of brutes and fools.
I should be held together with my poems.
Not in a hell, not fully csarred.
The knight-errant went home at dark and polished his sword.
-- Erm.
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