I had to write something.

So here I am.  Shooting up the clock at one thirty in the morning.  Banging my head in the treetops, waving at the wind.  I heard a tree fall in Brooklyn one afternoon and nobody else was there.  Earlier the rain was splashing all over the windows and running away very fast.  That's when the wind blew.

The change is arriving every day on the W local train.  The doors open and the people enter and exit all on cue.  Each path followed like the one before and the one after that one.  The doors close and the cell phones and electronic devices sprout out of pockets and bags; like tulips coming out each Spring.

 Lives are in motion crawling and jetting over large landscapes.  Mamma puts the pudding on the table.  Dad pours the milk into his coffee.  The newspaper lands on the front porch and the dogs begin to bark.  The leftovers in the fridge are beginning to mold.  The cat finds the litter box but just scrapes the crumbs out all over the floor.

The sun helps turn the sky into the amazing pallette at the end of the day.  The clouds pick up on these colors and scream with joy that they have come into such good fortune before they blacken and blow away.  The evening tastes the end of the day and rolls it around in it's mouth before spitting  it out into the bucket.

Good fortune rolls like thunder and spills the pins far across the universe.  They thrash and crash and make an awful racket but those kind of sounds are all part of the big picture.  The bowling alley I used to hang at when i was a kid.  Sneaking my Mom's Winston 100's.  Pinball machines that i would shake until tilt.  Today tilt is mostly missing.  Too bad.

I'd tilt the world toward a better place if I could.  Don't know if anybody would let me have it my way though.  Seems like things aren't set up that way.  Something about the wind blowing.  The noise and the cold or the noise and the heat.  The turnaround.  The big splash in the middle of the lake and the trout are jumping, the flys are biting and against the shore the waves are lapping so soft.  Like toilet paper on a roll so quiet and demure; fading like a wallflower.  I wonder if i should ask that girl to dance?  The one with the red hair and pink socks rolled up ever so neat, man, she is the prettiest thing I've ever seen.  Standing there talking quietly to her friend and motioning to someone across the way.  The next song is the one that will work for me.

Aches and pains all the time now.  If not here then there then somewhere else but there are still a lot of aspirin in my jar. When i remove the lid i can smell the relief in there and so i can swallow it.  I swallow it and just then the Moon rises above the big dipper and reflects off of the lenses in my glasses and i see the streetlight pop on and buzz.  It's a good buzz too and i am reminded how often I am returned to the same spot in search of the most elusive catch of the night.  More difficult even than the girl with the red hair.

And so I've lowered the lights in my room so it more corresponds with the night world outside and i am comforted.  I play my night time games until i run out of gas and then must cave in to my sleep mode.  Except the stars are still shouting so long and loud that my head begins to spin and grow dizzy with the circular motion and sounds.  But a long time ago, a very long time ago I learned somehow to shut the things out of my head that i do not want in there anymore and so I can and I do. 

Playing the night time like a whistle blowing and then trading for a blues harp to help bring the loneliness in to a circle of light and play that tune the rest of the night until the sun's up red and I've collapsed on my bed.

Something.