Steeping tea like any bronze age prince
My anachronisms cut my mind to mince
Projecting to and from and feeling really very dumb
thirteen thousand days give or take a thousand
lend me your ears for a purse I tell the sows and
smile at my own cleverness till I recall who I forgot to bless
If you could steep me in philosopher’s water
digitize my essence on a vector plotter
it might spit out a longer rant but what I know I can’t recant
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