If it is a race, then the pace of one set of clouds out does the ones that float above lazily. Smokey dragons cut across Odin’s one good godly eye. The night pursues its cold cool wind muse,
and I cannot lose, because I use this muse so well. I walk the building corner to brick corner unwilling to enter the unyielding nightmare hallways. I do not wish to walk in the white hollow echo chambers, alone and uninspired while the night spirals in lunar delight. I postpone it as long as I can, walking the yellow concrete corners like they are tight high wire. I swerve and struggle to maintain my perfect position, for fear of falling into the black top lava pit. The inside world waits for me like a ravenous beast. Please oh please do not force me to leave the light breeze that brushes my skin gently. Glass and metal doors see me swallowed whole. I did not want to go but now I know this white washed world will be my graveyard fantasy. The red buds on the tree beckon me, but I cannot go back out. The musical clank of metal clips that hang the flags summons me beyond the security doors with their dangerous whipping movements, but I am not allow to explore such freedom. The strangers of varying degrees, shapes, weights, skin tints, hair, and teeth beckons me to question their history. I cannot go out there to the fantastic. No that is a lie. I could if I tried, but I chose to hide in a secure hourly wage paid life. I could leave and let my wanderlust take me where it will. I could go back to Pleasantville, Champaign, Williamsville, Pontiac, Mt. Vernon, and Danville, then go see places I have never been. I could give in to the seductive siren call of landscapes unseen, sounds unheard, and strangers not yet met. Instead I sign my time sheet, walk and repeat, securing nothing. I drive home tired and come back and repeat that as well. I accept the mundane. It is a part of the price I pay for a slice of peace.
