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A Rock
I sat upon a rock and mused
on all the things forgot. Unused.
And so it seems a lot were not
at all these things accused
of being such things that I besought
and parti pris, my mind's slipknot
set, recursive, I fell unamused.

I fell into a woodlet mire
with all the things extant. Entire.
And so it seems they disenchant
and all these things into ire
fell all such things that I askanced
and parti pris, my mind's decant
bled, silently, of all it's hellfires.

I sat upon a rock confused,
a remnant of regret. Diffuse.
And so it seems this rock baccalaureate
with all these things perfused
with all such things that I gazette
and parti pris, my mind's oubliette
shed, carelessly, all those I excused.
Copyright © Ben Kross

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