After a while, ones thoughts become meaningless; sort of like a rudbeckia scampering down a dark alleyway. It's like a storm-tossed piece of Chippendale furniture forever gathering dust on the sky-walk of life. Nothing makes sense, but it seems logical. It’s like there’s something to understand when there isn’t nothing to understand. You understand?
It’s like a blade of grass standing dew-driven to receive the hopping blackbird that’s looking for its morning song; a lyrical melody plaintively resembling a lamb cavorting in fields of strawberries.
And why? one must needs ask. Why? Why in all the cloud of forever-knowingness does the mist of meaning hang forever o’er the poetic function of adjectival innuendo? Why?
And finally, I’d just like to say...
That’s what I think. You’re welcome to disagree.