Smoke vanishes into the ceiling

The alarm clock subdued

The light from the stand near the couch shining as you sit

And listen to the coffee percolating in the pot

4:30 am and more than likely everyone else in the building is asleep

Family men children wives and the hand full of crazies,

None of whom are crazy enough to be wake at 4:30 am

Soon you will be standing over a drill, pummeling concrete, sitting on a plank of wood, eating an early lunch at 10:30

You will make small talk with the other men, men, who wiping sweat from their brow inform you of the 250 dollars they won on the Cowboys last night, or how their wife’s grandmother past away leaving only a collection of ceramic kittens,

The luck, it seems, favors chance over all else, weirdly distributed, handed over like thumb tacks in the mind of the universe,

Sometimes things make sense,

But not always,

And as you sit there on the couch breathing in the smoke and listening to the gurgle,

You think to yourself, the universe has the capacity for good fortune,

There are small victories to be won,

The only thing is to catch a glimpse of these victories in the gloom of the experience and let them into your soul. There is darkness out there, yes, darkness, but there is light too, enough to be certain of, at 4:30 am

With a little puff at the cigarette

And the silent parking lot on the tree line,

Waiting for morning


By J. Dano Lampros


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