Deleting the Copy
There is a lot of information out there
we may all be in overload mode.
Oh how to be simple in intricacy,
oh the enormity.
I take out my ever moving mind
lead it into the park
where the sky is also moving.
Time is the culprit
the impostor
the script writer.
I should delete all the thoughts in this poem
forever,
but
I will make a copy anyway.
It's in my DNA.
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