Why did she swallow the fly anyway?
Where is this woman?
Trapped in an endless song
Strangled by the shoehorn of our dreams
into an insane tune
a rotating door of death
with no hope of escape
no time to rest
no time to mourn
It always begins
with a fly
already swallowed
never a spider
or a cat
or a horse
she wouldn’t start with a horse

Stop the madness
Break the chain . . .

I know this woman
I went to camp with her
she sat right there by the bonfire next to Johnny
Now there’s a man
His story isn’t in apple trees
it’s travels and experiences
“The people he meets
when he walks down the street . . . ”

Yon Yonson was the true traveler
not in miles or distances or even places seen
His journey took him within the simplicity of things
the discovery of truth
“. . . They say ‘Hi! What’s your name?’
and I say ‘My name is Yon Yonson
I work in Wisconsin
I work in a lumber mill there . . .”