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| Overload |
There Must Be A Name For That
A mind well trained to reach for heart
reminders of gratitude and sweet relief
steeped in hope-enlivened acceptance.
Yet still endless dishes confound gratitude
joy dragged through laundry's soiled folds.
Clutter rings my ears raw while
muddy floors grate sand into the open wound that was
my patience.
I long only to chase fluttering moments of spontaneous happiness!
Where are my robots, 2013?
