What is Insomnia for 10, Alexia?

Nightly they come, tears drops of the past. They litter my REM like fireflies on August nights. Contorting my body into agonizing shapes, I wake to aching days and bruised joints. Dark thoughts from past lives, energy glowing and wracking my consciousness on their meanings. Look, look, I know you, we went to school together way back when. What are you doing here? “I came to watch the filming of the river scene”. Yes, me too, how strange. “Down there on the bank near that big rock, remember you first kissed me” . True, but that was years ago, and your dead now. “Aids from a heroine addicted guitar player, who would have thought”. Well most of us, but it was still sad. “Well I’m not sad, and they are doing a great job filming the scene”. I don’t know, I remember it with different lighting. “You know it took a long time to wither away”. Yes, I use to occasionally think about you in that rundown one bedroom NYC apartment. “It was heaven”.


I wander the dark streets and wonder what lies the house’s blank windows hide. Sirens in the dark, distant from this door, screaming in pain echo thru the neighborhoods. The moon even fears to be seen tonight. The wind infused with yellow pollen wraps itself around my nostrils and stabs my eyes with sharp pointed sticks. Don’t sneeze, don’t sneeze, they will hear you and find you. They will think that you are creepy, wandering the streets alone in the early morning blackness. Let them, I don’t care what they think. This seems all too natural for me, alone in the dark. I breathe it in to fill my lungs and make it mine. Because of that, even my shadow refuses to join me. Or is that in spite of? I am constantly tired, yet sleep is no sanctuary only a prison. But the street knows my name, and the grass fears my touch. Mowerman it screams. What a life. A small part of me actually enjoys the knowledge that something fears me. Yet the rest recoils in revolt and disgust. Do I really invoke fear, fear to the grass? That is just not right on so many levels. Maybe that’s my problem, I don’t seek to conquer, I don’t strive to subjugate. Well, yea, maybe the lawn. I hate lawn, so then fear me grass! For I can play lord and master. Still, if I don't aggressively capture, vanquish and defeat, how will I ever win? Obviously I would not know, about winning I mean. There is some piece of that big picture I am missing. Obviously. Big old Boy Scout she would refer to me as, but secretly like to call me Bad Boy.

Even in the dark, one can feel the green of the leaves, the scent of the forest on the wind. I can feel the bushes rustle and the limbs moan. The blackness starts to turn to grey and I must make my way inside to start the morning. I hate Mondays.