Howdunnit?
Then Daniel looked to the next shelf on the wall unit.
He noticed a murder mystery he'd read once.
"Eventually," Harold had told him, "you will become bored with it."
Usually, Harold was right, but he felt like a dunce
Soon as he discovered why: The real murderer is always the author.
Unlikely, perhaps, that such news would act as a spoiler.
At least there was always the how and why of it. But Moth or
Lit lamp, one rarely cared to place blame on the writer of a pot boiler.
Silly really. Like a kind of literary biting the hand that feeds.
Universe creation is universe creation even if a death
Slalom is the basis. And Harold was right about the seed
Planted by the creator. One becomes bored with linking downfall and breath.
Effect and cause get you only so far.
Concentrate, rather, on the voice and roll down the windows in the car.
There is enough wonder in a moment, without seeking a reason to foment.
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