Tagged: poetry

, waiting, to see the world

i remember waiting tables, , , more bread? allow me to get you more butter while i make mine…

stacks never got too high, neither did dad’s.
“I’ll take you to Italy,” he used to promise, , , i saw how worldy
his eyes got, buttery, in the middle of an asphalt parking lot, 110 degrees,

i remember waiting to get out,
and i did, , , never came out with a degree, buttered my name
upon loan papers; who the fuck isn’t in debt? must be nice to eat bread…

what does a warm buttered end piece taste like?
in Italy? burro italiano. amore italiana. soldi,
waiting tables, , , in Italy maybe?

13 waiting to be 30 – supposedly i’m supposed to have
my shit together, , ,
i hate commas, and something they call ‘patience’,
there goes another one!

today, i buttered me a piece of bread
It was delicious: every word of it.
serving myself Italian-style
didn’t realize god was makin’ it rain
manna honey. manna n’ honey
shit’s better than butter

italians visit my store in sf
i speak of bay area manna to them
in Italian; non ho fame
i welcome myself to the world: the Present: where milk and honey flows with each buttered second:
manna burying my feet planted
eyes as dry as an end piece, wide open:

for me and for my dad.mmmmmmmmmmmm

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black coffee

im sipping coffee by myself. that is unusual. the usual is a cigarette, and a really good friend. the regular meeting of morning, and lighting up to the lit smell of a newport. and on the other end of that billowing, was a good friend.
today, i woke up knowing i’d make this coffee, no sugar in the pantry. how to live without a little sugar? at least i still know how to sip the need to wake up.
it is unusual to surrender, to something as simple as black coffee. surrender to loneliness, so i’ll know how to wake up without the billowing of a ‘good morning’, from you. but as usual, i’ll wake up. black coffee, and a little voice inside saying, “time to wake up”.
sometimes i dream of a little sugar. like nostalgia, or serendipity, on days i’d never expect you whiffing through my mind, unusually so.
for now, a sip at a time, and a little dreaming, billowing skyward. i never expected freedom to taste so sugar-free…