What’s unbound still continues
on the other side of the alarm clock.
Actually, not much of anything really.
Coreless daybreak beyond motive
into the fickle contours of clouds.
Their therapy reckoned as I stand
up to the scale after the morning shower.
Navigations shrugged. Slowly,
I am again. Ionic soliloquy
laden to more, hint of much less,
corporeal vat of sunlight. Humid
perception always with at least
one more day to go. And evolving
composure. All the faucet features
of a world indigenous, makeshifts
I make my trouble in lucent delirium
to a soaked rapport charged fresh
by life shimmering encounters,
mirage of expectant agelessness. 

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