28.3.12

bad, canned coffee



In this it resembles all the old thinking.

There is no snow,
there was no fire.
there is only darkness.


And there is an emptiness
in each of us,
which can or cannot
be filled.
but which, in either case remains.

I know that i once said
I love the doubt that keeps us on our toes,
But I've spent the last few years reaching knives into toaster
and working hard so i could travel lazily.
I am the only one in my families six to own a car.
and yet i wear the same deodorant i did when i played sports.

but still i haven't been a cyclist,
sitting on the curb with my knees bent,
exhausted and smiling.
i still don't have a house where i can color the walls.

i used to think that all things
were a communication
of whatever love was
or wasn't there.


I used to think leaky-faucet-cafe-music was nice.
and i am still in the habit
of taking another swig of bad, canned coffee.
To wash away the after-taste of the first one.


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