These days are persistent. They come stacked one on top of another. A new day. Another new day. It’s, a new day. What I’m trying to say is I’m glad it’s a new day but aren’t they becoming a bit rigid? A fresh start is best with new perspective, new insight, a pique in curiosity. But these Tupperware days are getting expensive. The ground has frozen solid and no longer rises to great me. Maybe it’s spring I crave, but in spring I’ll only crave next winter. The birds will return and chirp melodies from the heavens. The flowers will add their sweet scents and licks of color that, if you could would taste of honey. But these days feel firm with their lids snapped shut. An unlimited stack of days forcing me to create over and over. It’s discipline he demands. First stack, then? Well then play. Another lid closed. Another Tupperware stacked. Another piece written.

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