Spending years poring over pages
While others laughed and played
I thought that I would have a different outcome than they
And perhaps I did
But if they lament the hours they spend
Shuffling stacks culled from pulped trees
Squirrel-homes and bird-supports chopped and remixed
Made rhythms to which none dance
And grooves that are the antitheses of funk
How much more must I
Who started on them sooner?
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