Just lying here on my back
in the dark,
listening to Fionn Regan and
looking out the window at the clouds
where the stars should be.
There’s some dark hair in here somewhere.
If I
push some buttons
and concentrate
on a point just above the display
everything is
white and silhouetted and
I can’t see much.
When you get this
you’ll be awake,
but I shall be fast asleep.
Agitation of hands. Strength of words. 
To say that September the 11th didn’t affect me
would be ludicrous,
but I don’t feel that I need to post about it.
Hmmm.
I wasn’t thinking anything september 11th in this poem. But from your comment I am thinking now that maybe it is related somehow?
No.
I added it later.
Yeah, sorry.
I can see how I’d confuse.