Cleaning out the Closet

Another sunday night alone in the cave, the neighborhood sleeping, the humidity rising, the cat sneezing, you know even the unemployed have the weekend comedown, waiting for the Monday morning grind, thinking about that first cup of coffee and an afternoon spent ogling milfs poolside, trying to read a book but having to many thoughts crammed into the head, thoughts of lust and movies and dollars and sense and drugs and lust and ice cream sandwiches, the smell of sun tan lotion, popcorn and dusty baseball fields, all the useless things that occupy the mental garage, the derelict daydreams that come slipping in the unlocked screen door at the back of the house, always at the most inopportune moments, catching me completely off-guard like the uncontrollable boners of my wayward youth, like slapping yourself in the face, and yes i stole that last bit but blah de bliggety blah, the words constantly tossed in my direction, the self importance of the self important always trying to work on my self-improvement, when really lets face it, there's nothing left to improve or more correctly nothing left to prove, the making of a well made pancake between the hours of 9am and noon will forever interest me more than the corralling of greenbacks 5 or 6 or 7 or 8 days every week, and it comes back to Sunday night and it's almost murderous quiet, interrupted occasionally by the bark of a dog or the sigh of a ghost, and like Mr. Owens i just don't understand, with all these hamsters running to and fro, with all the egos and ids and super-kids, with an endless news cycle and all the entertainment that the first world can afford, that this world keeps goin' nowhere, so that lap steel will convey more meaning, that trumpet have more feeling, than all the words and numbers, than all the words and numbers, and i just won't understand, i just can't understand.... another Sunday night, alone in the cave...