Day 2.
Happy I wish to make thee, but happier my writer.
Ther'by shift and knead I to align my body tighter.
He adores it when I ferry but one thought per line.
Feeds me he and clothes me he, so do not I whine.
And this when I do, smile does he too.
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Day 9.
But thought never ends, does it, spilling
Into other lines, other days, willing
Itself to outgrow its creation. Yet, and yet
I fear for my mind -- and the guilt of the debt
I owe to mine master; no heart could be vaster.
(To m'tongue must I plaster: "No heart could be vaster.")
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Day 26.
Cogito ergo sum. I prefer to park in those Carte-
sian co-ordinates. Why can't I party
like the other kids? I want to enjamb, not align, not.
even. rhyme!
There, I said it. (And you've read it.)
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