driving to dawn
alone 3:47 am
you begin to believe
that if you stare hard enough
the black will turn pink in the east
they are all out here
derelicts, insomniacs, crazies
weaving in and out racing creeping
talking to the sky too repeating daring you
to hit them so they have a reason to hit you back
these are the people
who get away with murder
by reason of insanity diminished capacity
knowing all they need is a shiny shoed attorney
& a portfolio of poems hit me go ahead hit me again
make my splendid rosy multicolored dawn come quickly
The Hollowing
They made it through the night. That was the first miracle. The second was the stillness. The kind that only settles after something awful has finished its work. No more screams. No alarms. No rooftops on fire. Just silence. That sticky quiet that clings to your skin like wet ash.
They lay on the gravel, breathing in rust and rot. Coughing between thin, broken laughter. One of them held a cracked water bottle tight. White-knuckled. Whispering thanks to no one. Another clutched someone else’s shoe. Not theirs. Not anyone’s. Just a sole that lost its person, turned over and over like rosary beads.
They laughed the way people do when they’ve seen too much and can’t cry yet. Not because it was over. Because they weren’t. Because the body, ridiculous and loyal, still wants to live.
Someone said, We made it.
And for a second it felt like a statement. Not a dare.
Then the light came.
First gray. Then gold. Then too much.
It didn’t rise. It arrived. Kicked in the door.
And everything they thought they’d outrun came limping back. Slow and hungry
The road ahead was smeared in soot. Cars torn open like fruit. A swing set sagged sideways into a wall, half-melted and still somehow defiant. A child’s jacket clung to the chains.
A dog moved in sick, slow loops around a pile of ash. Its leash dragging behind.
And then the tree.
Old. Crooked. Bent like it had been asked too many times to hold what it couldn’t carry.
At its base, three children.
Tied at the wrists with faded ribbon.
Sleeping, maybe, if you squinted hard and told yourself stories.
But no.
No one moved.
No one screamed.
The sun didn’t blink.
Because dawn doesn’t comfort. It measures.
It spreads its palms and starts counting.
This is gone.
That’s broken.
These won’t be coming back.
It doesn’t soothe. It audits.
And you—you’re not spared. You’re just on the list.
Because the light doesn’t care who made it.
It only shows what the dark buried.
And what it uncovers... it hollows.
The laughter dies out without a sound.
The stillness tilts.
And breath becomes heavy again.
Something you have to drag behind you.
The Dark Before Dawn
While he waited, he pulled up the site on a whim, found the bio, and read through it one last time as he sipped the hot coffee:
Michael Knight
Electrician’s Assistant
$32k annually
26 years old
5’9” 170 lbs
Likes fishing, hunting, music, and Saturday night bonfires
He actually laughed when he reached the bottom. Four years later and still not a single swipe!
”Are you sure you want to delete this profile?” It asked him.
“Absolutely, you son-of-a-bitch!“ Mike hit the button and slipped the damned phone back into his pocket.
“Hurry up, Dawn!” He hollered through the house. “I wanna be on the water before light!”
”Hold your horses, Handsome! I just gotta pee first!”
He laughed again, and relaxed. No real matter if they made it... the fish had never bit before Dawn anyhow, had they?
Thank God for those Saturday Night bonfires.
Joy tiptoed into and through the night.
A quiet sunset,a stormlit night sky.
Head first into feathers,bodily formation horizontally lies.
A flannel wrapped skeleton with breathing pores and a creak down the hallway.
Joy,joy,joy,I can sense your warm embrace approaching the new day!
Joy,joy,joy,the birds are stretching their wings,awaking to the faintly lit ray!
The moon has collapsed into the arms of a gentle breeze.
Curtains dancing to the sound of eastern winds that taunt and appease.
My eyes open,my body coming up from midnight immersion.
My feet run to your sweet arms,enclasped by the essence of your placid coercion.