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tired
When 4 am rolls in
like a beach ball rolling away
in the rocking tides.
you chew your cuticles
and search the phone book
desperately
for a 24 hour laundromat
learning the true meaning
of
insomnia.
wishing fruitlessly
to be able to wash your sins
away for $1.75 a spin
on a hopeless Sunday morning.
Great poem!
I love poems that are a portrait of an instant in a life. Very artfully written.