Coffee
I thought I met a reflection
But coffee only flows down my back
Alone as it burns
All I have remembered
Is your chaos
As I’m crucified in cold winter nights
I thought I would open a door
And let my soul pour out
From my pale palms
All I have to recall
Is the brief glance
A friend from years ago
I go on
As the boxing crushes my head
My art is dead
As all the fury is dying tonight
© 1998 David Greg Harth
98.02.02.01:54:00@NYNJ