The inside of my notebook
Is a tepid mug of dirty water
Slightly blackened by a spoon of coffee
An attempt to add colour and flavour with sour milk has failed
Curd flakes dance around the edge
Jostling for position
I put the lukewarm liquid to my lips
I have nothing else to quench my infinite thirst
The tastelessness traces the inside of my mouth
And I gag on its nothingness
The regurgitated aftertaste is all that I have left
And I remember once more
How I hate weak coffee
And instant poetry
1 comment:
I really like this piece and think that it should be added to your performance epertoire as soon as possible.
Your writing insoires me.
PEACE
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