SUBLIME

this is a night writers dream of. and a cigarette that even people who don't smoke would relish. it is shadows of raccoons who scrounge the dumpsters for scraps, and parting couples in the early morning while the dew is on the grass, at the airport, sending their loved one soldier off to some foreign country with a hug and kiss and a picture of their daughter dressed as a fuzzy duck on halloween. this is the kind of time when the moon has a haze and is bright, and halved, and prompts me to think of the 'other' half.

all kinds of thought arrives in these moments; of happy times, when life hands its best hand to you, and you are mostly assured but confused as to what to do. what to do with such responsibility. what to make of success and its burden, of the pressure to live up to whatever it is that determines glory and greatness. what to do with words that jumble and become mumbles after too many drinks and smokes on a third story porch when then moon hangs low and ...