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The edges of the day are singed by flame like an ancient piece of parchment

Touched by the warmth of freedom,

Unconstrained by time, organically ripe

Choices in creativity

Colors waxing and waning, slipping

Burnt sienna, raw umber, charcoal grey

Shades of logic

Tones of rationale

Drawing on introspection, retrospection,


Donning the white glove of the mind


Stretching to be intellectually linear

Unnaturally so, such a reach!

___linear ___   linear ___   linear___              infinity

History dictates it must be so; timelines do not circle about

The day’s finger beckons

Looking up, I see

the sun’s fiery rays are linear

and focused

                                 A. Locke 2013