uninspired

devoid of motivation,

emptied &

without ideas, creative

vision, focus or the ability to

brainstorm,

s/he enters the night

out through the door to

her/his dwelling,

to define what it is to

exist in this present moment,

for the night brings

worry to the senses,

when the mind treads water

in the fears of our distant

distant ancestors,

who without electricity,

without illuminated cities,

walked alone among the

animals who may not have

been so sympathetic or

respectful of the power

which we humans wield now.

 

s/he ponders in the Cimmerian

shade

just what it would be like to

be actually afraid,

for such sensations have fled

as science and technology

brought with them an

investigative method

whose use has dispelled

the delusion, lifting the

curtain to reveal

new fears, certainly,

but ones that s/he cannot access

in the depth of her/his personal

night---

bored out of her/his mind,

her/his stroll begins to slow

down,

coasting into oblivion

as the headlights pass

scanning her/him over like

the hand ticking on a clock,

mechanical &

precise.