Morning Coffee
Pull Starbuck’s French Roast Whole Bean Coffee from grease-speckled cabinet.
Measure three teaspoons in grinder with sterling silver scoop.
Mulch. Rip open my head and feed it.
Jab me with pale spider finger and my stomach growls;
Georgia power fills me with meat.
It is the madness in me
and my water boils.
Liquid channels my chest and flows through my brain.
It seeps through dark, powdery mess and fills my heart with hot, syrupy liquid
—dark as Kaffa.
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