the coffee sits
getting cold
with the mug on a warmer but I
don’t feel like turning it on
but think instead
of all the sex that it took
to get me
down through the ancient past
to now
then wondering if I should flip
the warmer on
or just drink it cold
my thoughts
skip
my eyes opened
but not to the moment
the word talent beginning to bother me
and I decide soon
that if I like someone enough
I begin seeing talent
or making it up for them in
my mind
it could be a strangeness
that catches me
and holds me up
to look at what is fine
and i see
sculptures in the graveyard
pierced nipples
fly blood
indians smoking intricate frog pipes
turnips ripening in the cold fall mornings
my thoughts of talent
just going one way
and then the other
my final answer is as always
a loss of interest
a pale looking, inexperienced face
staring dumbly
and turning to down
a cold black cup of coffee.
deuce coupe 