On a Tuesday

I watched myself pour coffee beans

into the grinder, pressed the power button

the motor started, whirling

eager blades to b r e a k bean

into fine grains of loamy soil

Fresh, oily scent of malted chocolate

and dried cherries

filled the air.

I drifted off,

into memory

as if the world existed there,

inside that damning space

stopped on its axis,

g l i t c h i n g, doomed to replay this scene

like a stutter to the end of time.

I floated above and to the side

wondering why I lifted myself o u t

without choosing, numbing blankets settled,

blunting sharp nerves, blurring focused vision, unhooking mind

restless and jumbled,

like shaken seltzer water, f o a m i n g

circuit cut

emotions drummed like finger pads on surface

barely accessible as my heart thumped

suspended, in post x c r a s h

hyperaware of nausea rolling up

time ticking, s l o w

sweat beads forming down my back

not feeling, hollow buffering

Half a click, pinged

I shift back into living space,

hands r e a c h, automatic

to pour ground coffee into the filter

flip the switch, buzzing

water releasing, gurgling

pipes steam

H i s s i n g

Drip, drip

The espresso bloke died.

You know,

6 years.

Just like that -- dead.