The Accursed Sovereign


Coffee, black

naked and black.

Once limpid, now heavy.

Steam rising, reaching

or is the sky falling?

Sitting alone now,

the coffee cools;

once so hot, it has lost its energy


its telos lies in abating itself.

Can one temper the ebbing, or are

We left at the will of the Moon, above.

Blame the Moon; it could neither change

nor mend our ways.

Pour it out; I must brew another ‘fore

I must forget this lovely, wasted coffee.


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