Finally the oxygen of a computer screen bright and crack it open like a new horizon in front of my eyes. Possibility staring back as a dark pierce of sun rising and blaring across the morning bed of ocean. The heat of new. Embark on a journey into the sea of marriage this August of the year of our Lord two thousand and nineteen. Some gin jet fuel to send us packing into a dreary afternoon that whispers of the average ennui.

We all float so into the restlessness of purpose absent days. Vacation or perhaps those idle jobs that demand incantations of repetition. Clock-in. Uniform. Age a while. Dress Code. Salary, perhaps. The shift, shift of feet on a sandy old tile floor. Fans and AC work overtime to combat North Florida heat. Stale smoke smell in the air and fresh imagination in the mind will syncopate to tango with this allotment of time.

Poetry always attacks with the precision destined for sniper kill.

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