May the Sun, in its grand dynamics, call out the edge so that it may be seen on orange days when the fuzz of boredom explains away the rain and the once funny drudgery is no longer a decent place to hand out a free love that shares a stoney sidewalk block, a square that always stares at the blue of the blank lonely one who sits without a seat and quips about the quim who did him in but can now some how afford to toss a lucky jostle to the first denizens of cornered lands found under squire skies and entrance cabins for seven older bright light fight night types who always seem to slick off a gentle smoke.

Editor’s Note – Originally written on April 13, 2006.