Friday, January 21, 2011

Night, sacrificed.




Here's your snapshot.

January will be over sooner than later. It is coming up on 3 A.M. and the last of the downtowners are headed home in a drunken hurry. The sheets of rain have started in, they trailing flashes of night light and the kindest rumbles of thunder these ears have heard in some time. Sleep a few hours in has been interrupted, but not in one of those shake by the shoulders, nightmare sort of instant insomniac ways; it's more the sense that, well, when and where else could you possibly have woken up, thought to open the back door and hear the rain as it hits street and balcony and swirls of so much wind? It's in the mid-60s and, to be quite truthful, feels welcomed on bare, crossed legs ... maybe even as good as drops might feel during an crazed stroll inside this energy.

There is cheering in the streets, too, it coupled with horns honking, all of it adding to this music. They are the sounds of my insides. They speak the words my fingers can't say. After it falls quiet, if it does, they'll continue adding words I can't quite dig out of the fanciest hoarded words in my vocabulary, not at this time of night, not in this space of morning.

Let me close these eyes. Let me memorize this feeling.

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