Middle of the night awakenings
can’t go back to sleepenings
I haven’t written poetry in years, and now it’s like trying to cloud watch on a cloudless day. There’s a nice simile at least.
I’ve been lying here an hour and a half listening to meditative recordings, but thinking about random bullshit instead of sleeping.
Maybe if I started rereading all my poetry books, and reading good poetry I haven’t read, art would get better. Maybe life would get better. Whitman certainly helped with “I am multitudinous,” and “I encompass worlds.” I feel better just remembering that.
My Magic Hour app informed me it started about ten minutes ago. Magic hour, aka golden hour, is the eighty or so minutes at dawn and dusk where the light is perfect for photographers. The shadows aren’t harsh, and the light doesn’t require a lot of temperature fixing. Well, in some cases it does, like sunrises and sunsets.
Dawn isn’t for thirty minutes, but if the angle is right maybe I can get it coming up on the railroad bridge. I feel like a little kid on Christmas morning.
A Vague & Menacing Agency 
Whatcha say?