No purpose, no path; strings attached to a dummy, neither brave nor nummy; a broomstick sweeps the endless fields; cows caw and fish fly:

chirp. chirp. 

Cows caw, and fish fly. 

Oink.

There is grandeur in the face of pork pies. Saucy plates left too cold. I would like to grab their attention and file a formal complaint. But NO … there are roadblocks and too much suffering: oink. 

I find purpose in oven cleaning. Cutting ties. Coating a Self in cinnamon and almond, ground without additional spice. Cayenne is not a spice, it is life swimming through the skies
— cawing.