the minutes between
midnight and six,
individuals, unique,
each one,
all dears,
old friends.

2:22
3:37
4:11
rhythmic but differentiated
in so far as
each one,
brings me a completely
special, preying
poesy dream,
bittersweet symphony.

the digits of my mobile,
double duty alarming clock,
digits rigid, rounded,
ends slanted,
bold white pronouncements
on a back background.

double identity,
my cell, my clock,
screaming pieces of time,
bullets whizzing
past the sides
of my head,
"awake and listen"

there was a period,
once, when the
body clock was
more accurate
than the tick tock
in Greenwich, England,
precisely awaking at six.

now randomness reigns,
and the county clerk
bids me record
the precise awaking time
and the poem,
therewith associated,


4:47 AM

Seven months ago.