Middle of the Night Proem

Go back to sleep do the right thing, don’t sit and let your heart sing its bittersweet middle of the night tune as if were an appropriate time like noon to sit and write. But it’s just not right to write in the middle of the night when the world is out of sight and there is little light and you might you just might touch G-d even if not quite. But if you go back to bed you’ll get a prize a bit more sleep a lot less noise. Noise of body, noise of soul, noise of who you are and what is your role and what are you meant to be in life and why the first rhyme for life that comes to you is wife and why you didn’t want to write that and why you think it is that you’re more fat than you were just a few years ago. And you look at your life to and fro. And that last word reminds you of how hair styles change. And you ask yourself isn’t it strange that an afro can be cool when you’re in high school and then years go by and you look low and high for what once was in and you find it in the garbage bin next to disco and punk rock, like that stray sock that gets away. You imagine the sock off on its own with no life line, no cell phone, with static cling, no wedding ring - the sock all alone, with it’s partner in the drawer. Waiting.