At times it’s unamenable
this deluge of dejection
torrential torpor tumbles
into pooling introspection
the stagnant surface thickens
a morass of misdirection
whose slimy draft will sicken
to corrupt sincere reflection;
we all face damned impediments
but seldom dredge the sediments
rebuild your rocky riverbed
to let the silt flow free instead.
1 comment:
The zen of constepation...
or gall stones...
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