Scan break brew once more
But I drink black coffee the following week.
And I still keep buying it
But that fact must be tossed into the sea.

So I drink black coffee and buy oat milk coffee creamer at the oat milk coffee creamer store on my way home.
The next morning I rinse and repeat the badge break room coffee pot ritual now reloaded. I drink sweetened coffee and work myself a dog.

While my coffee is brewing I get oat milk coffee creamer from the fridge
There’s never any oat milk coffee creamer in the fridge.

There’s a badge scanner to open the door
To the break room at work
And every morning I scan my badge
To the break room at work
And brew a pot of coffee in the coffee pot

And what’s living got to do with my everyday anyway?
Besides, you’d hate my moccasins

There was once a world of people of thought
Of wanting of doing of living a life of dreaming

Shut your mouth and chew
On the nonchalant — like me.
In a contest to see who’s more laid back
We’re now stuffed; out of memory

Before now, soon
Seemed ideal.
Before soon, before seemed now
But never fret, as love will continue.

Before is a catchphrase for all forgotten
Wishes wasted in the heap of our soul.
Cathartic nostalgia ripping through
The smoke, as the sun when overcast.
With certain uncertainty like a bow
Tied tight to the chest of a man that once
Believed in what he learned.
And once fought the fight, sure

Now is youth
At the start of the year
Resolved to commit the residual dripping
Unable to destruct from poor predictions
Rest easy on the leading edge
Allow the wind to soothe
Her sun burnt skin
Laughing along the fork in rail
Without worry of engine nor caboose
Relative speed remains irrelevant

Soon is a bachelor two drinks deep
At the end of the work week
Steeping in a puddle shared by the present
Lungs clawing for another cigarette
To pass the time
Scratching at the drink mat for another round
Tapping dances along the bar
Choreographed to the beat of anxiety
And yet he’s dragging

Just out of reach to grab
it at the tip of my
fingers just about
got it now if
only the rocks weren’t so sharp…
and my my
hand so fat and and
the dirt so muddy
or, mud so dirty
I hate this song on
the air right now I
Wonder if… almost there
can’t quite seem to
Got it

Yet, what’s more human?
Civility? Pride? Duty?
No.
Laughing? Crying? Dancing?
You dirty extremist, you!
Daring to bet big that only at the ends
Of the spectrum of emotion
Do we ever feel the soul.

For judgement must fall on all radicals
For their swinging and mourning

Too civil to dance or cry
Don’t disrupt
Maintain melancholia
And the belief that
Tears are an acid
And foot taps too basic
Leaving life looking like water
And feeling like empty shells.