WHY DO I QUESTION?
This is all ancillary motivation, something
moving past par. Like Dutch settlers getting
squeezed by the British, people have their
adjustments to make. Everything above me,
you see, need not be sky. Stars: No, not
either, and I have counted them all.
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I spoil the rich-suit like a baby in a crib.
Cry on demand, for some fossilized fuel,
some cow-milk's delight. Why do I question,
what I do, you ask? I don't, no I don't at all.
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Clean this table with the fork-edge, then
have us rub this carpet with your spoon.
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