Sitting in the middle of everywhere
going nowhere
a traveler
have pen will travel
wrapped in the knowledge
that everything is transient
that everything is perminent
that everything is nothing
and everything
and nothing is everything
all of the universe is in the stardust
of which I am made
the ghosts
of what was
of what could have been
of what never could be
because of what is
and the lost of all that what is
is lost in all that is all there is