Tangents

My musical tastes (which have always been rather odd and eclectic) have been going in strange directions lately.

I rather like it. Horizons, consider yourselves broadened.

I’m not sleeping well again. Odd dreams populate my subconscious continuously.

I sit, on my steps, the three-a.m. sky cold and bright with stars. They are blurred halos shimmering over the rims of the corrective lenses I rarely wear.

The night sky is a place dreams; aspirations that shine alongside the constellations of our forebears.

I stare, and shiver. My thoughts running tangentially, leading me ever-onward toward . . . nothing.

The steam of my breath heads skyward and my concentration, filmy and indistinct goes with it.

I feel as if I must be waiting for something. I cannot fathom what it might be.

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