In the playground of my mind, I recess, review, receive, and recline.
Sleeping longer is sometimes better, sometimes not, nor, now, or non.
Opened to changes about self, and soul, and sales, and solos.
Walking or riding to places known, unknown, renown, and even bemoaned.
Such are the inner stirrings as I stew, brew, coo, and do.
The man and the boy and the slave greet, meet, beat, and treat.
Words flow of their own accord in poem, roam, dome, and home.
Thoughts erode routines of schedules, appointments, meetings, and agendas.
Energy surges from out there to in here, be here, clean here, and change here.
The stacks are askew as choices are of self, service, slave, and succor.
Time drifts on the breezes of change, challenge, chance, and chants.
This is my existence since the man, the sands, the hands, and the change in plans.
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