Nothing Happening Here

There's nothing happening here.  No one walks this way any more.  The streetlight flicker on and off with random passersby, light trails chase speeding cars away and off into the distance.  Never stopping never slowing down.  The bicyclist pedals uphill downhill flat land too unfolds before them never ending so long as they don't break the cycle.

Took a message on the phone from an unknown number.  Didn't tell me who they were, but they knew why they were calling.  I said I didn't care but couldn't figure out who they were.  We both hung up around the same time.  Frustrated for no reason about nothing.

When there were things going on.  Light on every mantle, inspiration overflowing like too many keys on keyboards which I so often wander- find myself stuck between the black ones and the whites (not that eighty eight's constraining so could be infinity)- have to get out with a new sound everything must be original must be new and not recycled undoubtedly it's all been done before so why are we even here?  To dare repeat the same atrocities of our ancestors?  Or to weave our realities with our dreams and hopes and aspirations so that one day new will be the breath that you exude.  Every breath.  Every breath providing and inspiring creativity and life.  Not a new way to breathe, but more a new reason.