an old, old poem of mine, obviously written in a (tea) drug induced state. but fitting, isn’t it, as we’re heading into cooler weather.

after four hours of sleep
and 16 hours of work
here comes pouring into the poet
a cup of tea.
tea! tea! tea!
drug that whitewaterrafts
into forgotten veins and drags
with it, drawing deep from the bottomless swirls
leftover bits and pieces of energy,
scraping fragments of strength off the walls
of this human’s caverns —
tea! tea! tea!
tea steals that hidden nestegg of lifeforce
and presents it on a silver plate
to the tired, delirious poet –
see tea reflected in sparkles from redshot eyes!
see it pouring, gushing beneath lids
that are leaden, burning, and yet! still eager to leave
light in. tealight.
the light that weaves romance from the fear of night,
the light that wraps death and despair in a velvet cloth.
tea! tea! tea!
hold those bones up that want to collapse!
keep those fingers moving that are about to fall!
spur on those lips that ceaselessly mumble no sense …tea kettle
draw the last drop of blood … !

(thanks, mart and gree, for the picture. it was interesting trying to find the right one. looking for “tea” in creative commons, much of what i found was a little on the cute and well-behaved side. nothing like the crazed late-night tea drinking i had gotten to know from my russian ancestors.)

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