A Dash of Bitters

Okay so that 20 oz coffee was a bit of an overdose at 9:30 pm on a Sunday night. Not only did I get stuck in traffic on I95, causing my back teeth to float quite boyantly by the time I crossed the Maryland state line; it is now 1:30 am and my mind is too wired to allow my body rest, despite the screaming protest of my ragged eyes. My nerves are jumpy and the random sounds of seven cats in this old house as well as the inhuman disregard for decency by the asshole who pulled up and honked his horn for my oh so civilized neighbors has me wide awake. That and a certain affectionate orange cat is determined to share the small confines of my bedroom, scratching, mewing, and even just now leaping up infront of the monitor, using my left arm and the keyboard as a spring board.

I attended two surprise parties in the last 48 hours, consumed too many good ales, better glasses of red wine, some covert bourbon, many cups of coffee and not nearly enough water. That and I drove almost 350 miles in the roaring clamor of my red Toyota which I had intended on selling as the need for two cars is immediately outweighed by the need for stable income; hell, any income.

Physically drained but emotionally fueled by family, fun, new old stories, and a wee bit of frustration I sit in a cold old house with no heat, the glow of the monitor an illusion to the idea of warmth, or memory thereof.

As often happens, my muse struck while I was doing about 70mph and blasting my radio. I was listening to an ancient mix tape I made after being dumped for the first time. The tape was a medley of songs that followed the progression of emotions that I sought to run like river rapids, turning to music to help speed the process along. As I switched out my cd player with an old tape deck and have long ago lost most of my tapes, these songs were my constant driving companion despite the actual emotions and person existing as mere memory and footnote of things learned.

A note struck a chord and I popped out the tape, listening instead to the words forming in my head as the background noise of caffine fueled mini-thoughts grew from a trickle into a roaring flood eventually escaping my very lips.

It is very surely love that inspires all art, or for that matter creation, and just as surely the lack of love that results in destruction...

So here I sit, the same as ever,
silent sometimes, sleeping never.
The rat tap tap of the keyboard stutters,
orange cat mews, window shudders.
Eyes are bleary but still see,
a magic mirror glowing with words reflecting me.
Unknown rythms pulse my veins,
murmered words escape my brains.
A clock tics softly keeping time,
the key strokes slow, providing ryhme.
Soft breath purring, no mice to peep,
I dream waking of long sought sleep.