Violet blossoms waving in sunshine, dappled warmth falling onto skin; I sip my coffee, black. Morning's slanted shadows, I pretend silence and it is easy, dreaming stirring sleepily waking, staring at petals, patterns, leaves, tendrils twining mingling into sky above. Oaktown streets buzzing by under the siren winding of train tracks. Straight lines, straight on but stand close and send down your eye: there is no such thing as a straight path. I realize, internalize this late in life. Hey, kid!-- follow the rut, mind your step, go to school get a good job 9-5 happily white picket fence ever after. I call BS, turn my steps to a blind man's dance. Glass takes my hand, melts into my soul and at last I am home.
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