3 AM

 

 

 

 

I know the face of 3am.

It pulls tight at the bones of my rest,

unwrapping the scaffolding of my cellophane sleep,

breaking into my room; my eyes open into

IMG_1940a dark sea of nothing.

 

3am is a black star absent of an orbit,

a horizon fused into the soup of blackness,

absent of shadows or breathing.

 

I hear the scampering of mice within the wall,

rushing within its confines of night, stopping and then

running again, fading into the apartment below.

 

I am suspended between worlds, yet I

feel as though I am falling flat to earth like a particle

from the dust pan of a solar wind……

 

3am owns me.

 

 

 

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