Seeing Through the Day

I'm going to enjoy this --

there's nothing like a strong cup of coffee

to the sleep deprived; two thimbles

of this stuff and the fog will be swept

apart like a curtain, so I can see through

to the people carried along like seed pods

by the day's end, and listen to the battle

songs of their retreating motors.

I'll myself be cut from the current

by my own clasped breath,

glug glug, as I swallow this coffee

sweet and hot. Afterwards, the evening,

marvelous stuff, will cool on the back of my tongue,

and the voices of women will ring melodious to my ears.

Of day-lilies and
true lilies, of candor and
shit, I know much, but
mostly I know poetry --
right down to its weave and flea.