5 in the Morning

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Consumed by the early hour 5 A.M. I sit and stare.
The lionesses slumber after their rampage.
In this hour they have left my dwelling destroyed.
The hour has me blinking, exhausted, I stand and stretch, taking in the early morning air.
The hour drags like my bare feet along top of the stained carpet.
The hour drags like the black garbage bag, I pull on the floor.
During this hour I fill my burdening sack with empty pop cans and snack bags.
The hour presents a bit of sky outside the spotty window.
Stars sputter, scattered in the overpowering midnight blue sky.
Gasps escape from the chests of the bodies draped over the couch.
Their breathing disrupts my calming hush of silence.
This hour is suspended loneliness.





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