as i make coffee thoughtsrush out of my head
my ears, fastlikewater.
and everything i say in my head is beautiful
with clarity
and s p a c e like the great poets
like
brautigan,
carroll,
ginsberg,
free-flowing
verse, it comes in a song.
what am i thinking with such grace
in the morning cold feet standing at the coffee maker,
what is so beautiful
and loose
and clear
and poetic?
the funny thing here is
there is no record of what has transpired.
i am vapor.
the beauty the cloud that floats through my head
to the other side
has evaporated to the point of no return.
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