“this is not poetry” no. 3/xx

Drunk in greeneville, December 2015

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

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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.