like a tattered rag, I shake it roundly
until unsatisfied, I drop the remains
and sit baldly, contemplating the heavy weave
until I might lift it to shake egain. Chewing consistantly
I have made no more progress on knowing answers
by seeking answers; perhaps I am on a better quest
for questions that might explain the unrest
of my tempered thoughts, which flip up and down
like a great switch, and when illuminated, seem
like a willful string untied.