2 A.M.

2am

I want to shoot myself to sleep.
2am got a song on repeat.
Her voice dragging on gravel,
a boot off a pickup, plodding
crooked lines laced with whiskey and hay,
unturned engines buzzing my brain.

I watch clouds collide.
Lightning streaking sky.
Cocktail thoughts weaving in
a gentle swagger.
Until a fist punches through plaster.

No sense at all,
this late night call.
The fly over plane
looking down on eggshell lights,
wondering about their yolky lives.

A passenger on a train,
when I rode to the city at 6am,
dark pouring down graffiti streets,
bourbon over ice,
crackling and melting hours
a stir to greet

Women cloaked in terry robes,
shaking insomnia with barefoot toes,
yellin’ at their spouses:
2am, go to hell! You senseless maggot!
Crawling into wall cracks,
skittering around fences.

Familiar faces, places
stroll down fleshy lobes.
Roll tape.
Rewind time.
Keep me up to know I’m alive.

Too much brightness in the dark.
Too many words marching at the start.
And all I want to do is shoot the fuckers,
but I’m too weary,
too lazy with a lucid stutter.

I shuffled down the hall
to let ‘em in.
Wipe your feet. Grab a tea.
Come out from under the tree.
We link our arms, Night and I.
2am, What’s on your mind?

S S Hicks

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23 thoughts on “2 A.M.

  1. Having trouble sleepling, DD? 🙂 “Lazy with a lucid stutter..” – another stroke of brilliance. I love your words, my friend 🙂

    1. Thanks, Professor. I think it proves we don’t live in the Matrix. If we did, wouldn’t we all sleep soundly?

      You know it’s a good thing I wrote this poem early, before I read your Yoda post. I would have written it all backwards. Nothing screws up your brain worse than listening to too many Yodaisms. Maybe worse than lack of sleep. (Did you buy your tickets yet for Episode VII? I refuse. I can’t go full nerd. I’m pretty comfortable with half though.)

      1. You’re cooler than I, prof. I will give in and hopefully it’ll be nothing close to those terrible, wretched prequels. I wonder if they’ll pan to the gravesite of Jar Jar Binks? hmmm…

  2. Wow. This one is completely different from most other ones you’ve written. I can feel your frustration. There’s a lot of violence in it. Then you settle on this:

    I shuffled down the hall
    to let ‘em in.
    Wipe your feet. Grab a tea.
    Come out from under the tree.
    We link our arms, Night and I.
    2am, What’s on your mind?

    Great finish. I got to tell you that I think you are really evolving as a poet.

  3. Reblogged this on Uncle Bardie's Stories & Such and commented:
    If you love poetry as much as I do, then you have to read S. S. Hicks’ blog. With each poem she posts, she just gets better and better. Much of her poetry reminds me of some of my favorites, such as Gary Snyder and Elizabeth Bishop. This poem especially spoke to me. I really love how she brought the poem to closure. So enjoy…

  4. I just read this from Uncle
    Bardie’s post. You captured this quite well. Too many nights I have given into my minds restlessness and opened the door to see what was so urgent it couldn’t wait til morning. It usually is something.

  5. I feel your pain, DD. Why is it that, despite our tiredness, we sometimes can’t turn off our brains sufficiently to drift into slumber?? I know we’re “supposed” to simply get up and get something done — perhaps read, perhaps write — but who wants to do that and become completely awake? Nicely done, ma’am!!

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