3 in the mourning

He sat on the floor
in the purple music room
The lights were adjusted
      just so
He sat down
crossed his legs
and leaned against the wall
He listened to record
after record
after record
There was a dirty spot
on the purple wall
from his unwashed head
He knew he needed food
but feared going out
into the world
The last time he left
he thought he heard
the Earth scrape something
as it orbited the Sun
and he looked to see
if others had noticed

He looked at the clock
and was relieved it was 3 am
Nothing would be open now

He’d check the clock again later
There was time

Jason Fisk is a husband of one, a teacher to many, and a father of two. He lives in the Chicago-land. He is the author of Salt Creek Anthology, a collection of micro-fiction published by Chicago Center for Literature and Photography; the fierce crackle of fragile wings, a collection of poetry published by Six Gallery Press; as well as two poetry chapbooks, The Sagging: Spirits and Skin, and Decay, both published by Propaganda Press. For more information, feel free to check out: http://www.jasonfisk.com.

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