Too Hot to Sleep

It's a windows open hot Burkburnett summer night... It's just missing the thumping of one-cylinder diesel engines and the cacophony of rod lines scraping over their oiled wood supports.

Maybe is just don't want to sleep, at least the short sleep of restless nights in one night cheap hotels...  Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky, Like a patient etherized upon a table; Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, The muttering retreats Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: Streets that follow like a tedious argument Of insidious intent To lead you to an overwhelming question. . . Oh, do not ask, "What is it?" Let us go and make our visit...

Take a break from processing. Read Emerson for awhile, Eliot for awhile... Remember how much I enjoy that. Throw in some Poe and Crane for good measure. There was a man with tongue of wood, Who essayed to sing, And in truth it was lamentable. But there was one who heard, The clip-clapper of this tongue of wood, And knew what the man, Wished to sing, And with that the singer was content.