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  • Here comes the dawn again. Distant still, though rumbling and near, the solar train has yet to make its regular round of the bend. I sit awake as usual, that swirling hive of a mind of mine busy like bees making honey I can't seem to harvest. Not for profit, yet, anyway. But I can at least taste my brain fruits. The essence of their nectar wafts into the formless but keen nostrils of the cosmos in my head like olfactory metaphysical quasars, brilliant and terrifying. Alas, astronomer nor astrologist am I. So as yet the joyous cosmology of me remains uncharted. So I gaze inward at the roving constellations of my existence. Me, the primordial nomad of myself. A true aborigine unto my being, I ever am embarking upon the epic voyage of my life. Unceasingly I seek the vessel of transcendence, that wave of productivity that renders my thoughts tangible, even visceral, amidst the misty seas of time. So if amidst the insomniac ramblings of this stationary voyager, anything sings to you, then my heart soars a phenix among supernovas.

    Art by Alex Labiak
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