that samey tannin taste

a yawn

and I’m sitting

Waiting on a tea

With my Spirit woken

It’s either stifling in here

Or my thermometer is broken

Which it isn’t.

Which means it’s me.

What is wrong?

I do not know

How much longer

‘til the tea cools down

is enough time for me to ponder

just what it’s all about

Extra strong English,

for a vision quest

One as dark as this deserves only the best

Minimal sugar

one brown will do

then I let the looseleaf stew

for three minutes

while I contemplate

if the milk is still with me –

(Which it is)

sip too soon, and it’s too hot

or stone cold, if you’re too late

I was wrong about the milk, too

I see a cosmos forming on the surface

Swirling around in my cup

Like shiny oil in a puddle,

or balsamic on a plate

Some things just do not mix

Like hot tea and bad milk –

a cup of tea they do not make

It’s getting boring now

too bleh, too dry,

that samey tannin taste

And no biscuits either

and no prospects neither

Remind me, what’s the line again?

Oh — yeah,

Why the fuck am I awake?