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 **** and no cure.

The swan flies 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.