7

 The magic number seven, to so many it means so much. To others nothing. As does anything in this world. Depends on your viewpoint and what you take from it. Your experiences and how you build it. Your perception in how you view it. I’m here up on the seventh day of the new year, looking upon my most recent years of the past. And recorded. Disappointed. As they have been gracious! They have been amazingly precocious. Preciously spontaneous. Discovering this past lost  upon the day of seven, I rushed to meet up with myself. Defined myself here and unravel my tongue. On rolling the words into the world that have bottled up in my throat. Creating congestion of thoughts and freedom of mind. To not have the flow, to be controlled by the lack of use. It was I who had created this abuse and now I am removing the dam. Allowing the words from my brain to flow out my throat along my tongue upon your ear. Fry am here. Upon the now, upon the day of seven.