The Random Glorious Melancholy

            Of course.
            The fireworks shoot straight up toward the sky and almost reach it. Almost.
            The moon bends and hangs and swings when you’re not looking straight at it.
            Dawn scratches on your blinds like some unseen stranger by your bedside.
            The chance brilliant bursting bunch of joy awaits in tiny compressed bits.
            You hold back. Again. You stare out. Again. You wonder and watch and wait for something you’re not sure you’re asking for. But you hear it and it’s almost here.
            Like wings of a butterfly amplified times a million.
            Breathe in.
            You can feel something you can’t sum up in words. Those hollow, short, ugly little four and five and six-letter street signs. Forcing you to stop and turn around and slow down but always and forever you want to go and keep going and keep talking and keep them coming one after another.
            Something around the bend and something rising with the sun. Something hanging in the midday sky and something drifting back off to space.
            So many wonderful little somethings you can’t sum up because you’re not sure what they mean or stand for or signify.
            But they’re all beautiful every one of them.
            You scoop them up with scarred hands and watch them slip through fingers.
            They remain and they continue and they heal.
            You close your eyes but still see them. They accompany in dreams and they shine in nightmares and they find you. Eventually they find you.
            You look up and look out and hear it drifting. Softly. Like eyelids that slip asleep and remain closed until you’re free at dawn brushing them open again. 

Labels: ,