That first shit in the morning—

there is nothing better.

I wake up to the sound of traffic, outside my 3-story window.

The mist is magical. I drink espresso. There is nobody here, but me.

I haven’t found anything, as good as this, in my 35 years—

and then the sun burns away the fog of inspiration.

I have 3 hours, before the dull droning day.

I am awake, for the dream, and I begin to type.

Yesterday, I was afraid to let go—

to completely enjoy myself.

Here I am, on a limitless vacation from the job

(the supreme interrupter of the morning routine)

and I’m thinking

about all the things I need to do in life.

Why can’t I just listen to the trumpets on the classical music station, and ride my bike like a kid again?

No, I need to worry…

because I’m an adult?

I don’t know, but what I do know is that thinking gets in the way.

Tune-out your worries and focus on the music—it’s like a fresh wind

for a warm moment.

That’s my advice. Let the workers of the world break rocks, while you

go for walks.

The comradery of being a kid.

The neighborhood boys have been giving me a hard time.

“Can I go for a ride in your truck?” A black boy asked me. His two front teeth were coming in crooked.

I rolled-up my window, despite it being 100 degrees. He imagines, I might be a creep.

I sit in my vehicle, when I chat with my friend in Florida over Facebook.

“Why are you sweating?” My friend asked.

“It’s those kids,” I said. “I can never get away from them. They see a kind face, and they like to take advantage.”

Typically, I dress in a suit and a tie.

But yesterday, they saw me on my bike, in my camo shorts and t-shirt, and I was one of them.

I got a nod.

It said, “You are one of us.”

I don’t care about fitting in,

but I do worry about wasting my life.

People throw it away, like tin cans

of bad tuna fish.

If they only knew

what they could’ve had

they would go mad.