Morning Joe

like some primitive ritual

it begins

when the daylight swallows

the darkness whole

I stir

escaping my death pose

for one more day

still half slumbering

I stumble

I crawl

into the kitchen

looking for sustenance

for my early morning call

into my ritual

chalice

I pour this black

liquid out

steaming like sulphur

I raise it up

with my two hands

to my lips

to regain

my senses

why anyone would

drink this

that is akin to water

soaked sand

or what is floating

in a car mechanic’s pan

I don’t know

but in the morning

when my head is foggy

and I need something

to get me to go

I reach out groggily

for my morning

cup of joe

may 10 1992

Victoria, BC

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