Afternoon Coffee.

Tumbling down the corridors
in early autumn
brings me to a room. A white room.
Too bright, and too many eyes.

Instinct says 'hide' or come up with the story,
the ultimate one,
about god and guns
which will allow you to pass,
safety to the other side.

Mindset insists--- think very hard,
waking me up every pre-dawn morning;
chain letter of images and sunsets
to be had.
Coming round the bend at me,
in my bare feet and stockings which conceal
so much.

Both of the oppositions are wrong.
I listened to the sounds entire,
the small of a shoulder and the lap of a tongue
sneaking in the slightest sound of duduk.

Harking me back to those biblical times,
when I set up shop and all the coins
lay bare at my feet,
like I lay bare at yours.

A business's a business.
Breadwinner takes all.
And nothing left to show for it,
except this silly walk,
and the unclear idea of
words in music.

How many stories can fit inside a certain note?
The one I feel each day's end,
or times not yet had.
Texture, feeling, light and idea
all moving in broad strokes across
my thighs.

Another chime of the invisible clock
will wake me.
And more than a few lives lived rewind
the dimly lit bordello that becomes my mind.

The layering of story, and reasoning
strikes my back as the autumn wind.
Ignoring is fruitful, as gazing finds bounty.

First with words, then with fury,
everything saltier comes on the inside.

~ M. Lucia