When you will touch the face of my coffee cup,
You will find it as hot as my eyelids
Steaming with the coal-churning factory.
I push my left eye back into her cave
And the workmen brim up with coal
Grinning nihilistically, I savour the numb
Off upon the afternoon breeze;
It is like falling off the wagon in a noonish nap.
My muscles lisp.
I crunch upon the devil’s shoe like an autumn leaf
And I free horses in the wild, wild corporate-shunned woods.
These factories that are precise spaces;
Poets from different ages break upon its machinery
Till it will turn blue holding out breath,
Like a fish in a noodle bowl, leaps
—in a sound midnight dream.
Here this was my attempt,
Some may choose to call it inactivity or debt.
But the coals slide off the eye-cliff until dayfall,
classroom-envy will cease hold.
I refrigerate my coffee and wait for night to chirrup.