Drag

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