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The Time MachineThere is no one so lost
as a traveler
He visits the past
the thickest textbook.
Memorizing facts and
he laughs at unknown characters
tethered to the page.
He swims past the masses--
they could be points on a line
so deep below him,
so far behind him,
their countless little choices
hanging like weightless debris.
Oh,he believes that he understands now.
In abandoning his anchor,
he has become the time machine,
the anomaly that exists whenever,
able to rewind and manipulate the tides,
uninhibited by mountains,shielded from disaster.
He bounds over milestones built beyond his lifetime
but when he arrives,
he takes no pleasure in the sunrise.
He cannot seem to adjust his eyes
to the future.
He doesn't respect momentum or that
generations have carried this island here,
on their backs.
"I can fix this."
because he cannot make permanent
and everything new to him
is something worth reverting.
Heaven IsThe soothing air
that lifts and passes by
The waking of another day
beyond the dream of night
An infinite moment of solitude
where time can rest in peace,
swaddled by a constant sun
that trees aspire to reach.
The shadows that they cast together
to animate lifeless brick.
My latte-- blissful, rich, and comforting,
on a morning just like this.
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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