The faded, cobweb covered, Tub of sidewalk chalk On the top shelf, In the garage Behind the old bike lock, With no key

I want to sit at a table with you Eating toast and jam Sun cracking through the veil of fireplace smoke

Shards of what could have been Land on the capsule of what is And sting as they pluck at the eyebrows of the soul

Are we floating or scuffling? Shuffling or floating? Wanting to feel a form in the darkness And terrified of feeling something

Fragments of me “Human merely being” Stab Poke Throb At and through My cold hard shell

So this is The Grind The Drudgery The Dirge The Humdrum The Doldrums

Before the homogenization of coffee through Grandes and Talls When there were dreams