My open window bears a gaping hole,
Welcoming and whining the sounds of my soul,
A tasteful mesh of stormy delight,
In a moment so blissfully lonesome tonight.  

Whirls of wind that plow through the trees,
Rain drops pouring and ******* wherever it may please,
Slight brisk drafts of air cooling me at ease,
In this hot, oven-like bedroom, while I cough and sneeze.

Alarm clock sets for the dawn of tomorrow,
I lay here filled with bouts of sorrow,
How this beat of peace is simply a borrow,
Due to this I whimper, whine, and willfully wallow.

The openness of my window, this gaping frame,
The darkness of my bedroom, delightfully same,
Provides sense of solitude in this world, without blame,
I complain not a lick that this is the name of my game.

I wouldn’t hurt a fly,
Besides that one fly,
That flies around my eye,
In the middle of the night,
This fly needs to die,
And leave me alone,
Alone while I cry.

Fight or flight,
This fly’s got might,
Dodging my swipes,
And buzzing alright,
A noisy, buzzing kite,
Flying all ******* night,
As if confined to my brain tight.

I’m not alright,
I’m not alright tonight,
I don’t really want to fight,
This fly on such a lonely night.

The Nighttime Skies have altered, altering us…

The nightly showing of twinkling heavens, fulsome,
brimming, as can now be seen but only in a planetarium
program, always was a delight to our ******* citified  
visitors, who received this free reminder of Earth’s  
non-centric role in the universe, happily, for it jived
senses with common sensibility, confirming an assumptive
reality with yes! my-eyes-can-see-it proofs, that many city
folk only hope & assume are yet true someplace  else
‘out there.’

Night light pollution, a life feature just assumed as
a costless cost of doing business of our modern
population distribution, has horrendous mental
consequences for a generation of me-me-me
young ones, who lack the lessons in real awe,
not by way of a video game, but by never having seen a
Milky Way,
constellations and planets
that were so necessary to
critical cortical thinking p,
human beliefs,
re the totality of
existence a mere
two hundred or
so years ago.

The star’s disappearance for so much of our population,
reenforces the notion of our own centricity, get it?

A world centered on the city.

The truer star studded sky knows not
of gender neutrality,
racial disharmony,
through a
“I am not the universe “ perspective,
for in this large than life realer than real
exterior externality,
which why, by the by,
is mega black and white duopoly,
makes who is bigger no better than smaller,
for all but magnified speckles
all now more of a minor
irrelevant relativity.

When all the worlds are watching, not just the world, but
a Universe of unknown worlds are judging, studying us,
and maybe our lives are mighty picayune,
but amore humbled and yet precious, do we not need to be
always on our best behavior?

the fact is that we who are but 80 miles from nyc’s borderline can no longer sky-testify, be reminded of our planetary’s liveliness- uniqueness and our proper place on the largest tapestry
of the always, of the forever, of the
majesty and harmonious coexistence.

I am naive and a proper fool, and I do not know if it is the new smoking of the planet, spread of the seemingly innocuous
city boundaries encroaching on our rural existence, or a new physicality condition that makes our nights a pungent blackened cloud, and that so many can not say of the awesomeness
mystery above us, and think
with humility
our destiny,
our alignment
                         “is in the star’s.”

Alas poor Yorick, even your creator, the poet William Shakespeare, who understood human frailties too well, conceded that,

”it is not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves.”

But the again,
he could nightly gaze
upon them,
and we cannot!

He also conceded, to attempt to balance
the imbalances of our
visual scales,
and magnetic moral compasses,
writing,

indeed!

”there are more things in heaven and earth*”

on moonlit nights
concrete beds and
pillows of flora sing
songs

empty cold winds beg
company

starlight's wingspan
warm, maternal
and cooing that shares that
macabre bedtime fairytale love

a silence that has become
a wool-knit cap of late
hours,
smoke,
bitter drink

an excuse really,
for desperate wandering
and the freedom to stand still
pacing stagnant

shallow grey rainwater neighbor waves
nods

the choice, holistic,
to breathe and live
or sigh and think,

be a man--
adult--
problem-solve;
industrial

untrimmed grass,
the words of a friend
the gate's rusted

repeat a tired fantasy tune
with all the time in the world,
just enough to waste
to search for answers or for self

bundle up
the alarm is set.

As shadows begin to engulf,
The hues that come from a well lit day.
From the multicolored palette,
Pastels turn to gray.
Shadows are forming ,
It's near the end of day.
But still,
In the eve's half light,
I spy the glimmering ,
A floret of white.
The first to catch the new mornings rays,
And the last to show through the darkening haze.
And so it cycles from light to dark.
The familar becomes unknown,
And place's of refuge,
Are now a gambit to run.
The darkness seems to lessen the gap,
That the dawn had once split wide.
But all's the same
'Cept the loss of light.
And maybe just a tiny fright
From the circuition,
This will pass.
To convert  the obscurity to comprehension.
And so reveal,
It's all a trick of the mind's eye.

With work
The times are ours to live
And make the day come for more
With a hand full of sunshine to give

But the night, so somber
Showing its just and must
Has the sense of another wonder
A longing look at privilege, just because

Liberty in a worthier art?
So fulfilled with a memory for you
The sharing how, to know for a word between the smart
And the wishes of life, to complete the irony due

Somewhere the call of unison
Made in redoubt for a saner heed
Than the count of a days worth, a comparison
With only a chance meeting of minds to guide us, are we need?

Something breaks just around the bend
Longing is overturned
Replaced with a dull sort of fear
An impending sadness
Beauty, though gleaming with violence
Surrounds a thoughtful desire
Lust grows and swells
Bitter metallic love tastes sweet on starved tongues
Blood is no longer just red
But stunningly gone