Not even slightly.
The rush of traffic,
Almost coerced to exist
At the jagged ‘five’ way
With me—
The smell of morning air,
Crisp, churned with
The staleness of Indiana heat.
The air collapses
With the expel of any breath,
Ceasing to disarray.
Minutes go by
In repetition—
Then, suddenly,
Life enters
Through the loading dock that
Connects intellect through words.
The only thing separating you from what can’t be named
Is the sky, the stars,
And the galaxy.
The euphorism in reach.
No ordinary day comes
When the sun shines,
And the universe aligns—
It is never
A typical day.
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