Four AM Sleep Overtakes the empty streets Watched over by the cherry red stop light blinking, like the head of a cigarette glowing, left out in the dark. In the night (of) the asphalt, unwalked, stretching to downtown, is adorned with bits of trash, and rows of streetlamps and highwaylamps, that dot the road until they vanish in the distance, like lights on landing strips, vanishing cracked yellow lines, and motel 6 signs illuminated burnt cream yellow, cars in parking lots, the blackness of the empty vessels, and gas stations attended by no one, but in their quiet hour, attendants who careful eyes cast down, counting cash or reading dogeared paperback novels to the smell of gasoline. distant dogs bark their imminence, to the bored half moon. whos face is partially concealed, like a wedding gown, by the summer clouds lazing through the dome of the purple night horizon, hurrying to no-where. 4 am.