Platsic Toy Soldiers

I wake up to my aching head
to an empty heart
to white light piercing its way in to my eyeballs
to a fly buzzing around my left ear
I wake up and the desire of making something keeps me from going back to sleep.
I film it in my head
A shot of myself looking straight into the camera and saying
“this is me” white burn and... cut
Me again, in profile, I say “this is my reel” Stop motion animated rolls of film bury me in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1... and cut.
I have a terrible hangover, as it fades away mild melancholy takes its place.
As I write a man is looking at me, he is curios and unfriendly.
We are all mixed
We all look straight into the void
Traveling at 30mph in a flying saucer over slumbered streets of broken baseball bats and untied shoelaces.
We are the ones,
the chosen ones who are aloud back into the city every morning,
expelled out every night
We look at the big buildings from across the river and wonder what the people who switch on and off the lights look like.
In the dark we all look pale
in the dark I touch my feet and think of naked children running in the snow.
Its the end of the summer
The howling season has started
the growing up
the smile killing
the beginning the brown
the end of the blue