I have no idea where this came from. I am coffee-shop-stoned and this is what happens when my abhorrent room chases me into cafes all over the city looking for some measure of comfort.
lifeboat in a sea of beer and various coffees
sweet and fattened or bone-dry black
in the belly of the third month
I still can't hear the rain when it falls
whispering about the world
outside my slowly caving skull
the basin to dip into
when I'm too light to remember
that this is not my home
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