Night

Why is the night so lonely? The sun has gone, and the moonshine is the piercing, bright light that stares at you trying to get some answers out of your sealed lips. The stars are out of focus and billions upon billions of miles away, so too are the alone. That invisible wind too sneaks up on to your cool brazen neck with a chilling ease that sends dark electricity down your nerves. The water is always cold and deep at night. The happy ones are asleep, and the lonely ones awake, to find no one. I try to make the night a positive thing, as in that it has substance, when it really could be the absence of day. Is it night or just no longer day? The cat's whisker shake in that mucky shadow of the orange streetlight. So too are the streets whisked by with the those scratchy red lights of cars, of tired people's going to places they don't want to be, from the places where they don't want to be. Night is a place of temporary, uncomfortable escape. A bleak end to the endless days. A dead end to the circuit. Where words assemble themselves over dried coffee stains among the ghoulish smog precipitating into ash. The smoke is dirty and crisp, tobacco and gasoline mix well with cough syrup and rusty hubcaps. The lovers are all going indoors and the drinkers are going out to smoke and smokers are going out to drink. The fluorescence of the roads allows for endless driving. There is only rain at night.