uninspired

devoid of motivation,
emptied &
without ideas, creative
vision, focus or the ability to
brainstorm,
s/he enters the night
out through the door to
her/his dwelling,
to define what it is to
exist in this present moment,
for the night brings
worry to the senses,
when the mind treads water
in the fears of our distant
distant ancestors,
who without electricity,
without illuminated cities,
walked alone among the
animals who may not have
been so sympathetic or
respectful of the power
which we humans wield now.

s/he ponders in the Cimmerian
shade
just what it would be like to
be actually afraid,
for such sensations have fled
as science and technology
brought with them an
investigative method
whose use has dispelled
the delusion, lifting the
curtain to reveal
new fears, certainly,
but ones that s/he cannot access
in the depth of her/his personal
night---
bored out of her/his mind,
her/his stroll begins to slow
down,
coasting into oblivion
as the headlights pass
scanning her/him over like
the hand ticking on a clock,
mechanical &
precise.