4am haikus.

 The dark hours.

Dawn lies shattered, slow
darkness bleeds ‘neath blue clockwork.
Time tends to our scars.

Call of the Muse.

Filigree of thought,
webs of dreams. Night calls,
I answer, pen in hand.

Coffee.

Bitter precision.
Backbiting tongues, sky-black as
snakes absent of stars.

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The Post Office:

Disclaimer:

'Quintconsequential' is a word of my own invention, despite the definition in the style of the Oxford English Dictionary featured on the site. By all means, use it, whisper it, shout it from the rooftops. But please, remember that you heard it here first!