Before I sleep or when everyone around me is asleep,
I go to an empty street. I wear a coat to protect myself from the cold.
It's a nice cold.
The type that kisses your cheek makes you shiver a little and fills you with giddy.
In the middle of this street is a lamp post; I like to weave words and art from this lamp post.
But I need to go back to slumber
But I need to go back and play with numbers
And when I don't have these things to worry about
The light goes out
I wait for it to turn back on
Most of the time, it doesn't
I play with the wires
Or maybe perhaps I should go looking for other lampposts and fires
I try to call friends
But it all leads to dead ends
The light of the lamppost will not come back
So I try to make in the dark
And it is excruciatingly hard
All that comes out is a horrible chord
Outside the street, everyone tells me the song is beautiful
But I what I still hear is bad and inexcusable
I'd wish that what happens on that street
Stays on that street
Because the darkness of that lamppost seems to follow me wherever I walk
So, I decided to pause and stop on the sidewalk
Maybe the solution to this darkness is simply changing a wire
Or moving on to find another flare of light