poems by Rena J. Mosteirin

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Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Breakfast and Bullshit

One coffee please, she says and curls her hand around the heat
like a cat curling up to go to sleep/ but the opposite.
Two nights ago she couldn’t sleep/ she was high on time (time in water)
looking at the calendar like it was a stone table with rows/ that the weeks
of the month were made to flow through/ coffee water through the mouth
bitter time and like a cat

pushing silk on your calves, ankles/ time in fur
snaps it’s tail at you/ time in seconds
sounds like the ocean’s small crashes/ on repeat/ it looks like now
and now and now. What are you listening to?/ I ask. Biggie, she says.
What?/ Biggie./ What?

Biggie Smalls./ The Notorious B. I. G./ Biggie biggie biggie can’t you see?
Sometimes your words just hypnotize me/ she sings
and the whales of the world beach themselves/ believing it is the rapture.
She rehabilitates the whales/ every one of them goes back
everywhere music is coming out blowholes/ so I dance/ on the beach
bitches in the back lookin’ righteous/ in a tight dress/ I think I might jusssss
as the ocean grinds up on the sand/ as the barrister grinds the coffee beans.

Next week she’s going to teach me how to fly
and how to make ugly ice cream/ it is the Age of Ice Cream,
and then we’re giving up poems.
My pants will write the poems for me in the future. My pants and my computer.
My pants will drink the coffee and my computer will weep the weeps.

One coffee please/ here/ she hasn’t been able to sleep or shit in days,
if we could just get back in the ocean, if we could just remember how
to drink coffee underwater and where to plug in our laptops.

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