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Deep into

the 3 A.M.

caffeine hallucinations,

I somehow drift-slick into sleep

and crumble in the divide. Only waking when

the wind sends the metal horse gate

off its' hinges does the full return

bring a semi-clarity. Time swims.

Speeds at different intervals.

Burst blue quick, then dull

gray slow. I find this

thought in the insomniac's

toolbox. Deep into

3 A.M.

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