330 in the morning
is when the world is at its
still point.
pendulums run out of momentum.
leaky faucets slow almost to a halt.
even dogs sleep, undisturbed by shadows and
paranormal whispers.
this is when i am caught
somewhere in between insomnia
and curiosity.
dark curls spilling
on the keyboard
typing with one hand
in the dark
like an amputee conductor
leading a deaf orchestra
in slippers and a robe
and i think,
sleep is for those who know what will
happen next.