The Mighty Notion of Being

sitting, the iron chair, outside the café

curled its design into something

floral, with the absence of color, or

a muddy gray, people walked past, faceless


the buildings fell back, the sidewalks

crouched and reeled themselves in.

was winter coming? I looked at my wrist

for the time, nothing, just skin, aged


what is a café? what am I drinking?

I am already awake, the sun, shot its rays,

gripping each planet within pulls reach


there was no one around me, my body,

its fleshy frame, idle, innards working mechanically,

wet and complex, pumping fluids, processing


white porcelain, drifts, momentum gains

lives like an era until impact wiped it away


my cup lay shattered on the cracked

cement of the sidewalk in a black puddle


hot steam transcends its liquid form


shapeless as always

and I am as present as ever



-PwD 2017





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