Coffee drinks me. Like it?
I love it. I am the only
bean in the whole damn
grinder who is there with
pleasure, with relish, without
pickles understand, with
your MOM, with inkstains
on my hand and java in
my bloodstream, with kindness
nowhere, my forked little tongue
plucking in and out of my teeth
for the joy of warmed slick
enamel, without these
damned thoughts eternally running
the loop through logic & not
responding to a little
control-alt-delete persuasion--
and in jeans, no less.
While the unbleached
sugar plays the maschoistic
tango with my Jenga nerves,
my friends split their brains for
an egghead omelette.
A green mute feeling in the
eye, hitting about the third
cup, blocks out the insistent
voice of imperative education
and stratiated social personae.
Unnatural, silently mad music, the happy
accident of bargain bins & five
dollars, takes on new beauty.
You and your troubles part
ways; you and the world
cleave in all senses of
the word. If only other
curtains of brown were full
of such powerful magik. The
letters stop, the universe creeps
like insects on sticky amber,
the clock is tripping on
potent half & half (instead of
the poison carcinogenically tasteful
"whitener" given asylum
in downtown [Memphis]), and I am not
going home without the slogan on
this cup memorized. Go fish.