Why do I contemplate?
Thoughts are boomerangs with razor edges
and the craven me raise the arm
instead of exerting the carotid
fossilized wounds to drug
on the Antarctica of Scott
malpractice for the archaeologist
oracle for the dreamer
those with wisdom
to compare their beards on my back
wishing I had eleven fingers
so they avoid inventing a new spell
and the new beginning that ended
but soon starts over
pebble in the ocean
that will drown the Himalayas
anguish..! to the losers
woe..! to the sleepers
grief..! to the contended
wishful thinking
for the next step to be lower.
