In voluminous stores diminutive souls in lanky bodies

Chase their fix as the clock strikes six a.m. and seemingly the world

Arrives simultaneously at dull jobs while somewhere down an aisle or at a register, a white          Bearded hobo is struggling to pay for cigarettes and a Forty, the slim kids sneak through Electric doors with 47 pills in their pockets yearning for a cheap thrill

Outside someone squeals out of the enormous parking lot speeding away probably late for work, late for something as a select few brilliant fools await an adventure

In the crispness of an infant dawn as two lovers cross-eyed

With fervency warm each other with burning conversation across town as

Chalky liquids embitter their minds which race and gallop beating restlessly with Unending thumps of hooves through empty blank meadows wrapped in grey

With uncertain eyes always watching through single-paned windows as 18-year-olds, Each other’s aficionados, stumble in a stupor across country lanes bound for sleep;

Soon the sun rises above the horizon unveiling a man tweaked out in his boxers writing Poetry about bugs, speaking to Jesus on the side of a winding road as farmers and repairmen     Busy with work and providing, stare in bewilderment as they pass by.

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