I think I get weirder as I get older.
Breakfast
How smile you
are today a leaf
fanning chains
of fire -
Smoke is teeth
purl & knitted
sound of fog
growing -
How ominous
cooling though
ice forms from
coffee
it didn't
have the chance
to even operate
to glow -
Showing posts with label coffee. Show all posts
Showing posts with label coffee. Show all posts
10 February 2017
07 June 2016
Poem-A-Day #99 : A Cup of Coffee
A Cup of Coffee
The hands that touched these beans - they are sticky with the picking of the cherries - they are short and thick and calloused - this is a romanticized idea of 'the worker' it is held aloft by images of wrinkled sun-scarred faces missing teeth and wearing straw-based hats - it perpetuates through National Geographic correspondence from X Y Z - this wasn't supposed to go this way -
This cup was manufactured in China - was it pre or post 'we are now ok with this' China - is the ceramic kilned in some hive - the glaze is black and there is English on it telling us about the codes of hobos and the one that stands out is 'cranky woman or dog' - the image is a potato or a turd -
None of this is about the taste - it's too hot to drink the tendrils of steam off the surface are like those from hot springs - the white mist spends a time caressing the dark meniscus and then releases itself to feel the surrounds - it thinks it is free in this but then the weather realizes itself and the temperatures coincide and the white vanishes into nothingness - everythingness -
These are neither tender nor buttoned thoughts - this is a bitter drink - it feels as it goes down - the charcoal in the roast the turning in the barrel of that roaster - you can taste the flame on the gas - this is not Malaysian fat roasted coffee with its salt and butter and smoothness - this is edges - it is so very European despite being not at all European - and that is an important discussion on absorption to have as well -
The hands that touched these beans - they are sticky with the picking of the cherries - they are short and thick and calloused - this is a romanticized idea of 'the worker' it is held aloft by images of wrinkled sun-scarred faces missing teeth and wearing straw-based hats - it perpetuates through National Geographic correspondence from X Y Z - this wasn't supposed to go this way -
This cup was manufactured in China - was it pre or post 'we are now ok with this' China - is the ceramic kilned in some hive - the glaze is black and there is English on it telling us about the codes of hobos and the one that stands out is 'cranky woman or dog' - the image is a potato or a turd -
None of this is about the taste - it's too hot to drink the tendrils of steam off the surface are like those from hot springs - the white mist spends a time caressing the dark meniscus and then releases itself to feel the surrounds - it thinks it is free in this but then the weather realizes itself and the temperatures coincide and the white vanishes into nothingness - everythingness -
These are neither tender nor buttoned thoughts - this is a bitter drink - it feels as it goes down - the charcoal in the roast the turning in the barrel of that roaster - you can taste the flame on the gas - this is not Malaysian fat roasted coffee with its salt and butter and smoothness - this is edges - it is so very European despite being not at all European - and that is an important discussion on absorption to have as well -
10 March 2016
Poem-A-Day #10 : Fragile
Fragile
At the counter the man was bleeding had on dark glasses was holding himself in a way to make him invisible but he was clearly there he fumbled his wallet and struggled to see through the swollen eye and finally took his glasses off
He said he got jumped
At the counter the man was mumbling incoherent was probably drunk his clothes looked like they slept in a gutter he was picking at a large oozing wound on his arm the skin was turning white around the edges there was a smell of death in the room
He said he was bitten by a brown recluse
At the counter the man tried to say 'coffee' but his voice caught in its throat and rattled he managed to order but spilled it on the floor his head was wrapped again and again and again in white gauze his eye was shot through with red his face was purple
He didn't say anything
At the counter the man was bleeding had on dark glasses was holding himself in a way to make him invisible but he was clearly there he fumbled his wallet and struggled to see through the swollen eye and finally took his glasses off
He said he got jumped
At the counter the man was mumbling incoherent was probably drunk his clothes looked like they slept in a gutter he was picking at a large oozing wound on his arm the skin was turning white around the edges there was a smell of death in the room
He said he was bitten by a brown recluse
At the counter the man tried to say 'coffee' but his voice caught in its throat and rattled he managed to order but spilled it on the floor his head was wrapped again and again and again in white gauze his eye was shot through with red his face was purple
He didn't say anything
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