.even machines have hearts

5:30 am and I’m awake again. And these thoughts go round and round in my head as I shiver from some somniac regret, in an hour or two I will probably forget.

Some dream or sensation has shook me awake, to blankly stare at the ceiling white slate. To count the purr of my stomach and hum of the fan, to contemplate perhaps, the essence of man.

I recall no dreams, no mares of the night. And my skin is not dewy with cerebral fright. Might be words that have woken for me to relate, some unresolved, unfulfilled ego state.

But I am no Ginsberg, no Cummings, no Frost. The words that I summon, swirl in my mind lost. And the fingers I reach out might as well have been ghosts, for the fizzle of words I could write at the most.