The big, bad, mad, American moon rose tonight over my barn as Americans lay restlessly sleeping. Restless dreaming, scheming, screaming for the next big idea, the next phase, the next big thing we all are destined for. Greatness you know. We all got it in us or so we’ve been told and man I’m getting old as I restlessly plan for my dose. My small dose of greatness or maybe my big dose, I don’t know.  For now I’m just a smo, a smuck, a common ditch digger you dig.  But I’m a good American you see.  I dream big.  I could be president some day.  You can’t say I won’t.  I probably shouldn’t.  I don’t have any notion, preconcieved or otherwise, of what I’d do with that much responsibility.  I don’t have a clue of what I’d do.  I’d set in the oval office and have a drink and a cigar and hope like hell that phone doesn’t ring.  Don’t look to me for your answers.  I don’t have’m and I ain’t gonna pretend for you.  There’s too much at stake and I won’t fake, but I might still become president.  You can’t say I can’t.  That’s the beauty and the horror of this insane asylum we call America.  I’ve got to dream big, hit the jackpot, move, shake and hustle/hurry.  I see them everyday.  There’s hustle cars and hurry trucks blasting down the road to known destinations with intent to distribute.  I try to get out of their way.  I yield to the power.  I check  to the raiser.  I’ll take the pitch and hope it’s a ball but I might take a swing some day.  You have to.  As an American you have to and everybody says “Amen.”  You’ve got to lose to win.  It’s the White House for me baby.  It’s Wall Street.  It’s somewhere else.  It can’t be here in this moon barn with the heat and the crickets.  The moon barn is nice though.  No hassles.  No questions requiring intimate knowledge of heavy things.  Just jazz playing through my radio as I work on my car.  Let the moon shine on someplace else for now.  On monied folk with important mornings to attend to.  Restless mornings after restless sleep preparing for restless meetings.  I lay in dirt and oil peeking at the big important moon as a cricket screams out sarcasm.  I accept it.  It’s OK.  I understand.  I’d better plan for some-day.