Monday, January 4, 2010


There is a ring
stained and smelling of coffee,
I've forgotten my keys
and you,
It's cold, wind blows outside
breath fogging windows and
ice melting, freezing, melting
and bitter,
mug stained, the scent of coffee
concrete though fleeting,
Still life and cold,
like the window chilled,
and waiting,
round and round
round and round,
the Inca, the monk
black and biting,
brown and sweet,
a new land to conquer--
Beware the high flags and heavy ships.

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