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Too Much

You think too much. Brain stains are left on your skin, it is now mottled with thought. From moment to moment your mind is a tumbleweed, then a blundering tank rolling over boxes of kittens. Silence is your kryptonite. Your house is a jumble of intellectual clutter, open books flutter weakly piled high on chairs and table. Some admire your erudite astuteness, but you wife considers you mad, as she, in her own quite place, meditates upon emptiness.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2023




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Book: Reflection on the Important Things