1am
when my eyes are tired,
not yet ready to close.
My body has melted into the couch.
And my mind still races through a haze.  

2am
at the frosted window.
When the lights are out
in sleepy neighborhoods.
The bars emptying onto the street.  

3am
and I should be snuggled in bed.
But the glow of the monitor reflects in my lenses.
Time slows
and so do I.

4am
and words spill into my brain
and onto the page.
Will they make sense tomorrow?
Do they make sense now?

5am
hits me like a brick.
It's not poetic.
It's not romantic.

6am
is for the work worn
and the insomniacs
trying to pass the time unscathed.