
The coffee man can
’cause he mixes it with love,
makes the world taste good.
Expression of mind,
flows through pen over paper.
Thought is laid with ink.
I/We are/am at home with
lined paper; blank it beckons.
Precise, honest, raw.
A first draft or a
letter or postcard; a note.
We are what we share.
And the thoughts of those
who came before us, change us.
And we change the air.
Tell me about the
third one. He’s there and gone. They
seem unaffected.
Tell me about the
third one. He looks a puppet.
Controlled by they, we.
Tell me about the
third one. He is rigid and
stark, expressionless.
His mouth moves not and
his eyes don’t dart, nor lips purse.
His brow raised, slightly.
His breath seems shallow,
put on. He breathes with shoulders;
[: rising and falling :]