1 am

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Shauna-Maria Andolina


1 a.m

There's a crawling black dot with paper-thin wings
hanging like a different species on
the orangesicle-colored wal next to
my newly delivered, leather couch.
It's silent but noticeable as a
pumpkin in an apple orchard.
Home of the dishes rattle
as leftover Merlot liquid ripples below on
the blue speckled countertop with
the passing of a rushing city train outside
my double curtain-naked window.
My attention...It's tranced
I can smel the irritation when dust
sprays from the blinds tapping together,
shivering as if it's too cold when the A.C
noise grumbles on again.
Tomorrow's going to scold me.
What am I thinking? It IS tomorrow and
minutes projected on the ceiling
are wasting...Swol en hula a hoop
shapes form under my eye margins but
I can't seem to focus on not focusing.