Between the hours of one and four
A rippling, flowing, stream of fragile thought fills the tub of lucid, conscious sleep.
Yesterday’s voices become lost in a warbled, untethered folk song of homeless sentiment.
The odds and ends of irreconcilable, unfinished business echoing, lonely.
Muscles continue to sleep in paralysis.
defenseless to the pummeling of fresh dirt borne of my unearthed.
Yes, all of that is still there, laying with during rest, talking in the blackness.
Bygone relics hovering close, and the staunch clock.
Five is the hand to turn away this spellbinding middle existence
so that I may sleep shallowly once more,
tuned into the static of tomorrow’s station.
Sophia Nicole Feliciano’s poetry and prose is sensory and stimulating, often dreamlike in description. Poetry is her method of painting and preserving her own personal history in an art form which may give rise to new life through ambiguity. Her work is set against the backdrops of Los Angeles and San Francisco, California, where she spends most of her time. She is a hand model, writer, and avid cook who ultimately wishes to publish a volume of poetry for the modern woman.
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