HarthPoetry

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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