The illustrious words of Hunter (the elder)
We ante’d more than our parents’ share
Broken cups of mottled modeling clay
Abstinence leaving you lonely & bare
Chanting Yeats without a voice
A rye smile at the lively night’s end
Cocktail girls when only a wife will do
Looking to the heavens to make amends
Time is failing on a tractional level
Bleak mornings to come calling back
Needing to move without giving notice
Resurrection only possible with coffee this black
I’m just trying to live my life
Extending some gratitude along the way
Showing the people how I can love
For we never know when it’ll be our last day
I don’t always wake up with a smile
But it’s always easier if I somehow do
Grabbing black coffee & my woman’s ass
Together with a grin; I’m gonna make it through
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The molten life-sustaining elixir
Down the gullet another cup is poured
Pitch black; the only way to drink
An awakening that just won’t be ignored
Stretching my arms into the morning
Reaching to take the sun in my embrace
Another sip; life will be mine
Success is surviving; sunshine on your face
I’m seeking a truth within these fragmented words
My thoughts won’t cooperate with how my fingers move
Typing on this old handmedown machine to transform
My mundane existence into a magical, deliberate groove
I am not afraid to expose the flesh of a wilted soul
There are no heroes in these parts, just broken misanthropes
Internalizing the segmented society & all the villains
Returning to coffee so black the void regains precious hope
I’ll take my coffee black
Darker than my dreams
Wake from this slumber
Shake her from the reams
Finding the energy to jump up
To start the day in the sunshine
Collecting smiles from fresh faces
& always returning to the love that’s mine
Pouring another coffee to revive my soul
The blacker the better; deeper than the sea
Knowing secrets which youth will always deny
That happiness is real & it’s forever free
Nonsense & miscalculations they always spew
For they see glitter & everything they never tried
But experience will tell you simple is better
& anything worth fighting for is kept on the inside
Image by Alexander Belyaev from Pixabay
Imperial city coins clink in your pocket
Orwellian flaws litter winter’s landscape
Thick fisherman’s sweater to fight the cold
Feigning steps upon the tragic lady’s cape
Black soot marring the evening sky
Told her you were king of Earth, not the salt
Misdirection will only get you so far in life
Lies & deception will still remain your fault
Drinking black coffee out of Delta cups
The cheap seats listening to Empire Burlesque
Mixed metaphors crawling in the night
Still pondering why a raven is like a writing desk
Dislodged tea parties & cries of Nevermore
The world swiftly swirling all around me
Reducing myself into my words
Hiding now within punctuation & necessity
Unsure of our place in time
Triangulations are stretch marks on the soul
Society wants me to be all shiny
But more often than not, I’m tired & dull
Where do we find our inspirations
The formulations upon our existence
Personalities discarded to the rubbish pile
Pushing us further away within time & distance
