What do I try to get at every morning
With my black coal coffee
And my Sylvia Plath books
And all the other crooks
That made their way to other coffee tables?

O'Hara makes me want to visit the movies
Maybe watch some Casablanca
Or walk the streets like a "Flaneur"
Hoping to catch a glimpse of Lana Turner

How many mornings of black coal coffee will it take?
How many sips shall I consume
To assume that I am fit for paper?
That it is worth the wait...

And how many words can one brain take
Before irreparable damage is done
Before loving mornings is not more fun
Than loving you

It is a risk that I pursue
A wild child I call myself
For it is wild to dream in words
Morning after morning
Hoping one of these days I'll score
And make a damsel of these scribbles

But it is such a bore to emulate
Such a task to originate
After so many words written
And so many brains smitten
To lunacy before my time

I shall start with just a rhyme
And soon it'll make a fine read
For all those coffee drinkers
Desperate to feed off my attempts

I shall make amends with all these poets
If these words accrue to something bigger
I will make Gods out of you
And you
And you

... And you

Oh! But how askew this all must sound
I'm going round and round in circles
And falling deeper in your mirth
For I give birth to no good rambles
These words will soon fall into shambles
Kick the bucket! They'll expire!

And I will keep the dire need
To heed the warning:
It is just another morning
A cup of coffee and some books
From all those crooks that won the battle
By making damsels out of tattles
Making art out of the blue
Screw it all! I wish I knew
How to be a crook like you