THE CURE IN COFFEE by David Erdos
THE
CURE IN COFFEE
Into
my morning coffee each day I stir
A
generous spoonful of honey. The aim
Is to
help sweeten silence, as it, in turn,
Infiltrates.
Each hour accuses the next
As I
wait for work and vocation. And so,
I
write, no doubt, as a cover for the gradual
Souring
beneath taste. I do not know
What
will be, or even how to sustain
The
new future, which in itself, has been
Powdered,
boiling and stirred, far from
Shape.
So the honey helps. As bees steal,
I am
reminded at once of their function,
And
so I work away, hived, and hounded
By
the lack of both individual Queen
And
workplace. We must forge our own
Kingdoms,
of course, as the ones we have,
Or
had now lay squandered. We must rise again.
True
buzz happens when word and hope's wing
Taint
the ape. All sacred creatures combine.
So,
let a new community create culture.
Commonality
amidst creatures who, in seeking
New
features bite and survive in rude health.
And
so, savour. Offend. Sustain. Re-imagine.
Evolution
is sugar to the salt of the stars:
Taste
as spell. Now, in my afternoon coffee
I
stir a little of the night stretched before me.
Into
its absence I will cast life's last signpost
And
some of the purpose and no doubt,
The
presence, too, I once felt.
Perhaps
then I'll be one and then,
Altogether
we will reclaim form
And
flavour and fate's favour, too
Through
dreams dealt.
David Erdos
August 26th 2020
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