hit by the FISH

Yesterday night there were these little ghosts above my head swirling in a carouzel. They had all faces of men I had met, men I chose to lean on for one second of sunshine and was appalled for one second of rain. Not that many they were, otherwise they would not be able to form that carouzel above my head... But still they were swirling and their stories were drilling in my head simultaneously. The threads of the resolutions never reached to a knot because once one knot dared to be fondled the competing thread rushed in to remind me of another resolution. Insomnia... officially.. the ultimate state of awareness that tortures you to be aware that you want to fall asleep and you try to understand whether you are falling asleep but YOU ARE NOT. So I open my window I listen to the late car passing by its last chance before Sunday dawns on it and moi who is still awake despite my wise 1:30 am night 'curfew.'
I think it was sudden. I took this piece of cloth and wiped off the carouzel. Why are we going in rounds for? My road on Charlotte Street takes a turn but then it goes straight into Oxford Street and then down to the underworld heaven of Soho and if I choose to walk down Oxford there will be at its end the paradise expensive car Parkway Street... if I am not mistaken. I remember pictures not names.
Here comes the light and comes the sleep we remember the pictures not the names... my head rests on names rather than pillows ... and now it is the time to trust my pillow and fall into its abyss.
The abyss took me to places where I was cooking fish with pasta in a huge casserole and one of the men, shaved now, was telling me to stirr better.
I am too refreshed to stirr anymore... and so all of them can remain in their little casseroles stewing about what spice to add ... I choose to defer and wake up in the cold sunshine of Charlotte Street, hit by rain it is now clean and calm un-disturbed by cars on an alone Sunday. Time to slide and no more carouzel rounds of pink fish and black horses.
Goodmorning.