Good is why and how.

Hot and licking.
Clot and pricking
Jubilantly unrehearsed.
But cools. Now a curse.
Waning the soul.
Draining the whole.
Too much a tax.
Is this. This raining wax.

Crying is alright really,
For those who like salt.
Tears are salty.
So is the sea.
We are sailors.
Upon a pond Lilly.

When you find the question
That is also the answer.
You have found, a kind obsession.

She collected dead moths.
Thought that their powdery wings were beautiful.
Eventually, the wings disintegrated.
And instead of dead moths.
She had dust.

I always did want to start at the end and work backwards.
Imagine being somewhere and not knowing how or why.
The suspense and mystery would be wonderful.
Would be, it would, altogether better than having the entire world before you.
Wondering where to go.

Like a shooting star.

I drifted further and farther away. To where it- whatever that is! Whatever that is, goes blurry...so blurry, so that the blurriness is moving, pulsating, as if to say, ‘I could be anything, I could mean anything.’

Like a star.

But.

When everything is possible, nothing is plausible.

It is a paradox. Oh but a paradox!