Round the sun I go, turning forty-two,
Ultimate Answer to life, the universe,
And everything echoing through and through,
Withholding its wisdom like it’s a curse.

Simply the answer to six times seven,
Or how many roads must a man walk down,
Isn’t knowledge meant to rise and leaven
Not lead to a complete mental breakdown?

Through the window, the world burns,
As if our hearts have become frostbitten,
And all I have to combat all these turns
Is the power of words I have written.

The Ultimate Question won’t get me far
Unless I assume a form more bizarre.

Editor: Erynn Crittenden