Night Sweats

I wrote some desperation gibberish last night.  Deleted it this morning.  Sometimes at night. . . I'm not all there.  I just can't seem to get on track.  I am unhappy with my "creative" output.  It is frustrating to display it daily.  Better to go into the cave until a creative moment arrives.  But here I am mocking myself in public.

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What remains of last night's post:

The night is silent, the sky deep and dark, the stars twinkling in their heaven.  It is almost eleven o'clock, when I decide to walk out of the kitchen onto the deck.  There is nothing like pissing outside under the night sky, and so I do.  Of a sudden, I hear wheels on the road.  A fellow comes by on rollerblades as I am finishing up.  Where is he going?  What is he doing?  Exercise?