half light again — the must is still clanky. the president’s up, squawks from his squawk box. triple gavels of death and forgottenness hum away on the powerlines, where homeless have camped once more beneath the uncanopied wires, their legs always like zombies on ebola. the crazed dog knows where his kitten carcasses hide, squeezes under house trap too small to go and sniff a while in the quiet.
why awake at these hours, where only the damned drill their brains?
must be the call for illicit pancakes at diner. nothing else will let him sleep.
he cracks the bible with blurry eyes. Once again the lessons are on the many edges of death’s mighty sword. The import of repentance from souls that still can.
He howls like a dog at the trains that pass by. They draw out the sorrow in his soul. But with no where to go, the beasts travel airwaves, finding other crazy and sleepless fiends to sing newer and darker songs to his winter.
Only God can unloop this circle. And His line seems busy lately.
prayer still churns, but barely achatter, in that old rusty truck at night.