(Poem #133 on new numbering scheme)
I grow weary of oatmeal: its amorphousness, surreal, brooding in its little bowl its sole purpose, to congeal.
– an englyn cyrch
[daily log: walking, 1km]
Caveat: Englyn #26 “Against oatmeal, on principle”
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An awesome englyn! But, for some reason, I don’t grow weary of oatmeal, tho I eat it as often as you do. I do grow weary of other things in life, however…