It was a Spanish night,
outside of his tiny cobbed webbed wooden window,
a war announced itself,
a war without Rifles,
Men,
or Tanks and trucks and grenades and black leather boots,
but a war of something
something more deadly,
something terribly cold,cruel,and
beautiful,
in the spanish night,
men loved women,
men loved men,
women loved men,
women loved women,
Lamps exploding with glorious saintly lights,
illuminating the streets like a ball room for the aristocrats,
everything glistened outside,
and he sat beside his old window,
wearing a ***** old white t-shirt,
lighting a cigarette,
he felt as if he was God,
high above,
looking over everyone,
couples holding hands,
girls in sun dresses,
red shoes,
blue shoes,
green shoes,
yellow eyes,
blue eyes,
red fingernails,
purple fingernails,
brown hair,
black hair,
yellow hair,
white teeth,
bright yellow shirts and beautiful brown skin,
the night was good tonight,
his tiny lamp shimmered on his hairy face,
smiling,
his cigarette smiling with him,
He looked over this,
wild landscape of lovers,
music playing,
women laughing,
kissing,
Being God would be terribly cruel,
he would say to himself,
lighting another cigarette,
this is his lover,
his music,
his,
girl in a bright yellow dress,
with her hair down,
and her eyes are large and brown,
her smile the wingspan of a crow,
Looking out over his Heaven
his window,
a tiny spider crawls across the glass,
stopping,
perhaps looking over the dancers,
the lovers,
the kissers,
the youth,
the night people,
He stared at the spider,
“i know that feeling spider”
he said
“looking over all these dresses,and these dancing feet”
he would say
“it's a curse”
“being godn' all”
and the spider would crawl away,
dissappearing into nothing,
maybe underneath the carpet,
where Dogs or mice have chewed tiny holes,
the clock on the dresser hit 1AM,
and the dancers,
the long haired women,
the men,
the dresses and red shoes and lipstick lips and eyes,
were beginning to leave,
Standing up he walks to his closet,
pulling out a jacket,
pulling out a pair of brown pants,
slipping on socks,
then his leather shoes,
his glasses,
walking down the stairs from his apartment,
he had forgotten his cigarettes,
down the hallway of his apartment,
walking back to his room,
a man and women laughed,
her teeth were white,
and she glowed like the flick of a lighter at night,
when the electric bill hasn't been paid,
he unlocks his door,
and grabbing his pack of cigarettes,
by his Heaven window,
he notices the spider on the window,
no body is out side dancing,
and the Street lights,
seem more peaceful,
and welcoming,
And he walks out into the street,
smelling to-do-soon rain,
his footsteps,
loud,
clacking on the pavement,
like a horses hooves,
and he lights a cigarette,
finally alone with the night,
no longer God.