bloom

get up and say a prayer. drag these 50 year bones to the kitchen. pull the bag of beans out of the freezer and and grind them by hand while the tea kettle fires water to a boil. memories begin to percolate in my styled bed head. the whistle. the first splash into the ceramic cone lined with filter is to let her bloom over the mason jar. the thoughts are beginning to breathe. images of new england and chicago and the road between them. clockwise over the grounds and feelings are bubbling up now. long slow exhalations. it’s between four thirty and five. the frothy brown liquid is ready. deep blue yosemite mug. pull my hood over my head, open the sliding glass door and walk out into the dawn. i have to leave the past behind or it will kill me. just listen to the morning birds. just watch the sky fill with light.

#katyamills

coffee.black

black as desire

my coffee exposure exceeded its recommended daily allowance, and i showed all the telltale signs of caffeine exhaustion, from impending sense of doom to useless fights with the others, wishing i could snap myself into the center of a forest. my devices and pets were all vying for my attention but she was nowhere to be found. i reluctantly tossed a foamed paper cup with a sleeve into a blue bin at a cafĂ©, and went sideways into a night, steamwhistle of a pot on a stove, contracting a spirit into a five minute steep of an old reliable, constant comment. what to my dismay, her producers had changed her floral notes, and a memorable song of an early childhood was hummed through the teeth ona variable. i don’t care. tomorrow i’m strikin’ out for the old bean, scarred from the heat and black as desire.