carmel makiato

5/4/23
watching the drip in the automatic espresso maker
forms a pool of coffee in the foam-
I spin the cup a few times, a twitch-
when I pull the mug off the machine, look:
Two brown coffee eyes, two nostril holes:
What death stare is this in my morning joe?

No these days are about life-spoon stir the visage away-

Later I’ll be on the turf, cutting up dandelionweeds with a hand axe
so little grass, so many weeds
the symbols in the bible; something about the fire
something about God doing what I’m doing
but we’re the flora here in our meatsuits
immaterial roots that will be unrooted or the weeds otherwise smitten

No, again-focus on the topsoil, the seeds, the fertilizer

but look at the worms. Sometimes one gets cut in two,
collateral from the hoeing. It’ll survive. How do you kill a worm?
Have to poison it, dry it out on pavement, stamp it into mush-
Am I God to them as to the weeds, or they to me as I to He?