Coffee and life.

Warm, on the table waiting
One hot cup of winter ray
in the beginning piercing through windows,
cobwebs and rust,
to where you are.

The coffee burns your shoulders and your
salmon-pink feet slip into slippers; then flee
downstream to the frozen brook.

Open your palm and catch what's left
of yesterday's orange moments.
Dusty rugs lay on blades of wheat. My heartbeat
faster in your touch.

Open your palm and harvest what's left
of the coffee bean season.
Warm to the newly opened eye
of smoke without ashes,
with it we burn the fields as we did last summer
when we were one.

You were barefoot on soiled rugs,
staring through the window
with eyes that pierced like sun rays.
Thereupon embraced by old, dry arms.

One morning cup for a finished day,
I took one sip
then you grew older.

Dear, Bird.

You will never get anywhere until you realize there is nowhere to go.

You will never know enough until you realize there is nothing to know.

Pills.

Something's breaking-
I couldn't tell through
the delicate daisy chains you made
naively strewn across your chest.
Then, I remembered why I hate the
the smell of water.
You barely knew me at all.
still, I'm sitting in this hell
on hard, plastic comfort.
White pills filled every mouth with
remorse, as I stared in wonderment
at every face that had made the
journey before--
I let the soft tugs
send me off to sleep.
This release was messy.