I speak, no more shriek

need more coffee, quick, my consciousness over tipped,

and I slipped on the what should be

proper, or responsible, mature–

that’s all myth, says this coffee

jazzy smoke and bass from corner have me continued in my straying

this feels amazing– okay that’s it, no more coffee for me

wait till I finally grow up

 

tricycle wheels over carpet, no sound, then

some fool on a harley quakes past

to show what he has, how musical, how nice, how needed