Lit

Originally Posted Friday, January 4, 2013

Night rain.  A soggy, lightless morning.  Rooms.  I need to be more creative with the lights I place there.  They are littered with puddles of light, but it doesn't seem to fill the air.  My aging eyes need illumination. 

Luminaries.  Light of my life. . . .  A world lit by fire. 

I am full of obscure phrases, seemingly disconnected things.  Broken.  Untethered. 

I blame the factory, but I go willingly and complain.  Perhaps the complaint is my art.  Creative Complaint, the Art of the Argument. 

I must quit sending emails at night when I have had too much to drink.  Rather, I must quit sending emails at night.  On lightless mornings that emanate darkness, they do not please me.