the BOOKS of thum

the 1st BOOK

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the 1st BOOK of thum


I stood still for just a minute so I could see why I stood for minutes and 
the only thoughts in my head are the same ones that 
ponder the general actions keeping my body from being a carcass amongst the rubble.
so many minutes like these have passed.  
some are remembered; most are not.  
it makes things more simplistic if I can funnel only the synapses 
that are rewarding to my day to day struggle inside my own head.  
but I do prefer thinking of breakfast because I always wondered why I only liked sweet things for breakfast.  
it’s my favorite idea to enjoy that which is sweet in the morning and yet 
I can’t help but feel I might be holding back my deep desires for eggs.  
am I just that afraid of the change to salt or the loss of fruit-flavored dishes. 
and what about my passionate incline towards hash browns.  
am I saying that I am better than the hash browns that 
I can’t have them by me at the table in the morning because 
they carry no resemblance of sugared decency. 
must I make breakfast such a travesty to my better judgment or my basic instincts.  
it just makes lunch that much harder to bear as I make no calls to precedence for my choice.  
I can see why I now bear a similar stance to the post I keep company while the day surfaces and 
remains only long enough to invite the moon back to visit.  
this playful exchange of bodies is the kind of routine that 
makes the world go round, literally.


Page 13

⊲ pg 12      pg 14 ⊳