this: morning everywhere

this: what was given to me called life and breaths that leaves me in a cycle of waking and sleeping walking and talking every word every word waits out there for someone to say every feeling out there for someone to feel and we can all live it even more like kerouac than thereau's pretend life in the woods.
this: one morning born each new day and we get so many of them (however you count the wager, however "early" the death) and each one each one is a new chance to sing too loudly and walk with arms swinging or scratching your chin and laughing like sunlight and laying down to let one day roll intot he next to have known we did the best way we wanted to the best way we could imagine it and that's what happens with all of this what gives it meaning value (if such a thing there be aside from what we asign) and let's go forward each one.
this: an early walk to the nearby park where some morning shudder and the branches of trees are bent in forced wind-dances and the air is cold so cold but it feels good in yoru lungs in my lungs here int he a.m. hours beneath these trees and atop these green green grasses (shrubbery and all manner of flowing living things) and downt he walk to resting benches where thoughts can be gathered: a morning constitutional.
this: the whys of being worth it the days that matter most whoever or whatever happens in the rest of it's unfolding (steps must not be fast to be full of passion).
this: the morning song of birds and how this time the channels are mine to change the parklot where every one makes their way to eventually to go someplace better or worse than where they are (at least that's what we call it) and this morning's city streets are full of movments and magics written in the cold wind.
this: the reason why and how not to end up not trying not going on and living out the saga the way we do and it makes me smile this broken (sometimes) and bending (more often) world where every cool and clean thing is just as likely as roughness and burning away.
this: the fallout of a lifetime not yet spent like all of ours that comes and goes so fast (the old ones say) but how many memories are now thiers how many smiles have they shared with this one or that in the passing of days and years for them. how many fine women or strong women have they lain with and how does that not add up to long and worth it worth it all the rivers valleys moutains the illusions of failures and losses as well as the illusions of went-wells and happened-just-rights.
this: we win just by going on.

2004-11-30 | 9:01 a.m.
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