Treasure Island

Michael Mira

(08/04/1987)

Coffee After Dark


Jazz notes linger in the air
like a hangover on
Sunday mornings.

I keep my eyes transfixed
on the axis of the Earth
through Ray Ban sunglasses,
hoping to figure out the
mechanics of life and death.

But the answers aren't always
as obvious as the razor blade notes
coming from a trumpet solo.

My coffee is slowly vanishing,
the laughter turn into whispers
and I sit still in the middle
of it all, hoping that by pretending
that the globe revolved around
my chair, I would find my definition.

Submitted: Wednesday, July 09, 2014

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Topic(s): existentialism

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Originally published in Carcinogenic Poetry, November 12,2010.

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