yet unclench, I shall not!
refusing to render
the satisfaction of release,
despite the pain!
despite the heat!
despite the puss filled blisters,
fit to burst,
I shall not unclasp!
I shall not remit!
I shall hold the cup!
for within is the only salvation
of this beautifully sunny spring morning.
Not that there is an alternative, even though there are many
Who’s bittersweetness strikes faster, stays longer;
Not that I need to stay up for him, as hours drip
Into fat puddles of late night tv and limbs that shift
Like a seabed under their blankets. His charm isn’t
Worth sacrificing the house-wine for, initially.
If I help him along a bit, maybe?
Drop a sugar-cube, add some cream or milk.
Give the Atlantic back its icebergs. Yet not that
He’d notice: Curse the lactose intolerant!
There comes a time, when everything warm in
This world, gets lost in the Arctic. There comes a
Time, when the cat by the fire duly notes its place.
And despite knowing this, I drink a little faster;
And I, having tasted what I have tasted
With eyes that have known to stay open,
To the richest and the boldest, I am still a tourist
To be seen in coffee-shops by a clearer lens.
While I am this slow sipper in this
Place of eternal happy-hour: every new mouthful
Is a new land to see.
Kraus! Oh Schnitzler and Toberg;
Come on, oh come home with me.
domino like,
one thing lead to the next:
from the spilled coffee
to the fear
to the looks
that turned into glances
and finally into whispers,
followed by giggles
which only lead to stammering,
stuttering,
hemming,
hawing,
lying,
and intellectual posing,
driving home my dominance,
driving home their ignorance,
counting the moments
until I was done
and could escape back
to the safety of my office
secure within my
collapsible,
impregnable,
fabric fortress
where it all ended,
once again,
in tears
because it’s hard to make it
and even harder to fake it
when i’m wearing my confidence
on my coffee stained sleeve.
I like to watch people
As they’re walking down the street
But I never see their faces
Cause’ I’m always looking
At their feet
Sometimes I wish I could charge you
As easily as I charge my phone
Charge you up with life
Charge you for it
Charge at you
And spill
Your coffee
And your
Smiles
but being at work
makes it hard to get away
for enough time to really,
really enjoy the pooerful sensation
of hard work paying off,
of finding reward in straining:
to do what’s right,
in the right way,
at the right time.
if i were a true
anarchist i’d make
some hideous connection
to comment on
our culture causing you
to recoil in disgust at
the systems you’ve
bought into
but
i’ve come
to the conclusion
i’d rather call it quits
and give up coffee, democracy,
and comments about either
altogether.
touched by locomotion
through glades of ever-fleece
hands burning on coffee mugs
