As I look to the oceans out there to offer me structure
I wonder if a job is really just, justified boredom 
an authenticated passing of time. 

My prepared meal is "I must" see this, do that, sort with 
lackluster CV verbs arranged horizontally,
to compound the linearity of life. 

Why is it that we don't swim through our days? 
A shower would do me better 
than wallowing, but I can't seem to find the shampoo. 

What is non-strenuous success? 
The definition of languish? 
Or the freedom from vertical to-do? 

I would rather be outside stretching my feet, 
joints clitter-clattering like lost keys, fascia under strain, expanding 
microscopically- my smile reflected in the sun.