We drink coffee
We drink tea
I walk miles of pavement
but the miles have walked me hard.
I make coffee
I break bread
as I crack the spine of
writers who're dead, caress their fractures.
A hole in my dress pocket
I lose pence;
this time we have
is incense
sneaking through alleyways, under pork pie hat
dodging cigarette smoke and the soles of my shoes.
Line up details and facts in lists to remind ourselves
we can't lose.
Drinking black coffee
is liquid sin
with a light at the end of the tunnel.
I give in.
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