Sun Street

The sleeplessness is a valley that gives way to the high plains with rivens and canyons at sunrise as the rays spill over plateaus and flood the low lying land red with clay, and some with sand

And the rays dance on surfaces and kiss all the eyes that squint in deference to their majesty in this golden hour when hope and ideas are as fresh as the cool, dry air that seems so steadily swift in its persistent progression to who knows where

In this vast place that’s open like a mind should be unencumbered left to dream and love and to care for despite the duality that’s in the wind and sweeps this space, the dark drained into day and the light dazzled then settled in repose until it drains into dark when it’s time to sleep again

I drift into that same valley I never left, cold and stiff, awash in sharp silver silk-like moonlight, illuminating still stained septic streams hanging over sagebrush and undulated high plains, predictably breached by plateaus reaching to the Milky Way, a 6 lane highway across the heavens

Take me on the sun street in the night sky so I can look down on the antiquated analogue playscape driving deliberately digital where they look like grasshoppers playing cowboys and businessmen and schoolchildren so well never knowing it’s a tired play that keeps going, rolling on as night rolls on, endlessly and relentlessly, like the land itself

Telling a story we care to hear parts of only if we’re intrigued by the predilection of others, and when the story concludes maybe I’ll finally wake up from my maddening sleeplessness and at last, I’ll fall awake and find myself steady