the clarity comes only with the morning in the ground dregs of coffee
it is always comfortable to drink
i am a house pet, resting blushed cheeks on dirty kitchen linoleum.
tomorrows goanna be another scorcher. scorcher? like yesterday. yesterday?
yesterday you said you'd call sears!
yesterday we said a lot of things.
tomorrow we will say more.
it doesn't mean you are going to break out of this chrysalises anytime soon.
if stoned tuesday afternoons passively absorbing animal planet have taught me anything,
its butterflies aren't your ne'er do well prissy insect ornament.
they worked for their wings.
so don't expect me to just hand over my powder perfect, fluttering paper tripped out ink blot appendages for pinning when i sucker punched natures shell with skinny black arms for three days, looking, hoping, living for life with my head pressed against the sultry june sky, only to come out slimy, disoriented, a little hungover, and a long way to go
let me tell my own fortunes in lost coffee grounds
and the lines on my six little hands
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