for I am not a coffee person, least 

of all in public, since the cup is seen 

by all who know my status here. the bean 

is bitter metal, tasting wounds of beast 

and blood without the red of flesh. a knife 

forever clean of guilt, a quick and cold 

effect, affect, alas, alack. an old 

and ancient practice, fossils of the life 

without the wonder. amber peat to fill 

with crystals, greyish bogs to drain with sleep. 

a keep without the mind itself to hold 

at bay, for it were never there. a pill 

of sweet conceit to coat the throat. to steep 

implies an age, so I am calmly old.