Few Questions. Thermos of Green tea More cigarettes Few Tom Waits later Breakfast still waits Crevices of the past Starkly agape I succumb to the aromas But let gently exhale Oh, to be human And not say that you think That ?I am? is no becoming But sits like the rest How do you pity? Where is your sorrow? All chiming questions For a charlatan mind Where you find pain Bosom still remains Is life in all that? A Scintillating migraine?