Five-Thirty AM

I could feel
the pulse
as blood
tangoed through
the tunnels of my strange body,
the pulse of income and debt,
the coursing of fear and hope,
the frequency rate of sighs.
I could hear the clock
pulsing lifelessly.
My senses make routine of it,
the pulsing of the days,
the greening and graying of the forest,
the cracking of the stars.