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Theresa Slaiwa

Bisera
9-7-16
Word Essay
Daze

Its the blinding warmth of an amber sun gingerly splitting its yolk above nostalgic

hilltops. Balmy light gushes through and grazes the Earth, tugging the horizon and daring to

seize the wide-eyed atmosphere. Goosebumps are gone now, because the snappy frost in every

breath has been thawed, now glossy and aglow. You can taste candied dew with every sip of air

sapped into your lungs. Feathery sunbeams fondle your cheeks, a compulsory yet tender rosy

flush of the silkiest searing. A choir of chirps trill and tweedle and peep, and all there

unquestionably is for you to do is go back to sleep. Your feet shuffle to and fro as your head

dangles; a rush of blood makes you flutter, more fickle and swimmy and giddy than you thought

you ever could have been.

There isnt a voice to follow, nor a pest to mind.

There isnt a force, nor a command.

There isnt a duty, nor a plan.

There are three winks, this instant, for instance.

Easily one of those dazy days.

At once it's two winks, now not one. Theyve been smuggled away, filched by a maggot

of a conscience. A scoundrel, a crook. And yet, a realist, an earnest confessor of responsibilities

and debts. That jittery little voice is so fabulously handy with confrontation; all reflections and

doubts and burdens and assignments and mistakes and inhibitions and clumsiness downpour into

your immediate attention. The air has mutated and become liquid nitrogen, every frosty gulp

leaving the acidity of vinegar on your tongue and the aridness of cinders in your throat. The

glittering landscape ahead might as well have withered and decayed before your eyes, because

all your vision recognizes now is black and blurred. Your feet shuffle to and fro as your head
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dangles; a rush of blood makes you nauseous, more shaky and queasy and ruffled than you

thought you ever could have been.

There is the wailing of seething sirens.

There is a swamp of errands and schedules.

There are three winks. But they feel without limit.

Inevitably one of those dazy lamentations.

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