Insomnia Diary

Now and then I am direct

Now and then I am direct It’s late and I’ve stayed up to miss you. A man onTV’s playing lute with dirty fingernails. I hear a car and understand it would be more useful if taught to fetch. I want hot chocolate. I want to remember the first time I heard music and knew I was hearing music, and the first time I heard music and had no idea what it was. I don’t ever want to use the word hype again. I’m also trying to be, if not a cup half full, at least not a cup smashed into a thousand pieces on the floor kind of person.When I’m tired it’s easier to believe things could be worse. I’m grateful we have a shopping list for starters, a simple ode to bread, to milk. That I have a mind which assumes a man with dirty fingernails works with wood. It occurs to me I could be standing in line one day with money and completely forget what it’s for.The woman behind me would explain but in the explaining begin to laugh. I was in Athens and people were shooting up along the path to the Acropolis.This was not beautiful, not Greek.There was sex in the bushes that made flesh sound like a calamity of gears. But at the top a woman was explaining Nike to her daughter, who only cared to know where our wings went. Don’t repeat that, it could become a t-shirt. I’m worried our bed can’t sleep without us.When you come back,  if the spoons are missing, would you look in the backyard to see if I’ve built a river? I haven’t, but a boat. Not a boat but a sail. At least the cloth. At least the wind on which the sail feeds.  ...