The World is Your Oyster

The time has come

I must speak of this one thing:

I wish ever so dearly for red high heels,

Life is meant to be lived away from the harbor

Nostalgia comes in the form of typewriters and sealing wax

I hate both cauliflower as well as cabbages

I am appalled by the contrast of rags and the riches of Kings

I am not denying the possibility of a sea gone a broil

Or the account of little pigs with wings.

Yet it is none of these things which I wish to say

I only wish to comment once more

Of my undeniable favorite parts of the day:

Early in the morning, around 6 and late, late at night, around 12.

It is in the surrounding hours that I seem to work best.

I could do without the meaningless 8-5,

Filled with scanning and phone calls and time wasted.

There is life to be lived out there, my friend,

And it is up to us to take it.

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