Three a.m. blues,
thick as smoke
Creeping slow
as sweet sorghum
Dreamy clouds
of steaming coffee
Delicate wisps
of summer jasmine
Lucinda Williams
moans soft and low
Crickets sing in
black ghost grass
Far down an empty
gravel road
The heavy night
is eerily still
Distant highway
life, on pause
No lights or background
engine growl
The stars seem to
twinkle louder now
Blinking out
a useless S.O.S.
Air so solid
I can feel it
Warmth resisting
movement
Sleep lead weighted
to eyelids
Hot liqueur in
guts of doldrums
Breeze that
refuses to blow
Despite the window’s
open invitation
Lone light bulb
hot enough to sweat
Night almost gone
hangs around to drag
© 2010 Fabian G. Franklin
