Dream
Labels:
Today's poem
At 3 a. m. in a box of black
I take counsel with demons
who dandle me on laps soiled
with artist oils, coffee,
filmy mud of sewer trenches
the soot of fiery skies.
Some muse, I say, incurring
here as sleeps upon shards of glass.
Come come speak while visit yet
Vague horrors and gargled screams
This song. Out out out
the prose of tangled lives.
2 comments:
hmmmm, "black box," "demons"..is this about coffee?
i'll offer the standard trope of interpretation cultivated by brilliant people who live in cities like mine: hey dude, those demons are starved ethiopian coffee farmers and their kids who dropped dead before they made it to the u.n. feeding station. they're haunting your morning cup of cheap drugs! don't drink!
something like that.
Who knows what the poem means. Your trope is as good as the next. If drink you must, look for the Fair Trade symbol. Not a perfect solution, but a step in the right direction. Lost Goat likes Fair Trade coffees. Organics, too.
http://www.transfairusa.org/content/about/aboutus.php
Post a Comment