CHOOSING IS IMMATERIAL
The even clouds are matching each
other; along the ridged sky farmlands
roll. These long hills are battered
with views. It's amazing how some
live in trailers and other have mansions.
One hundred mangled miners, they
will tell you, died here, working hard
that black and forested seam far below
this pelted ground. I guess I must
believe them, yes, but why would
anyone choose to live that way?
-
As it is, this life stands to reason
and I stand for nothing. I am
moribund and destitute alike,
no matter what I say. Why
would anyone choose to
live this way?
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