Shibuya Sunrise

I become blind to the ordinary, everyday gifts of life when my mind wrestles me into believing that rattling the locked door even harder will somehow transport me beyond the skin that holds my flesh.

During extended periods of pulling on secured portals, I’ve discovered that objects that lack the developed cortex of a human are viable options for escaping the self-made prison.

At dawn, the businessmen laugh in the streets after a night of drink, while I catch the flight of a crow through the gray blanket in the sky — it was born to fly without knowing where its wings would take it.

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