“this is not poetry” no. 3/xx

Drunk in greeneville, December 2015

Nothing ever sounds as good sober when conceived under the influence.


an apology to coffee

the coffee mug is lukewarm,
signaling the passage of time
since last I sipped from its
darkened depths
and I sigh for the beans
that came all this way for
such an uninspired fate.

would if I were a royal
or diplomat, whose lips
on the merit of imagined
importance perhaps taste
more deeply and profoundly
than my own; then my
little liquid companion might
feel less cheated by my
unintentional neglect.