Through the tumbledown town the tumbleweed blown by the lateness
of wind that flew like a swan unused to stretching her wings, comes
a tattoo of the morning that rises with breakfast and brings hope with
the postmen and the howling of cats on the tiles.
I have slept, walked, burnt and burst a hundred thousand miles in my search for the questions to question each answer I get and I get nothing but more answers to question the questions and each answer cancels the answer before
I wonder what answering questions is for, but for questions to answer and each one the cancer, no kill and no cure.
The swan flys away, the wind dies away, the tumbleweed brown in the tumbledown town blows away and there is but for another day my life in a nutshell.