Somethings Become Missing.... Poem by RIC BASTASA

the first thing in the morning is not a cup of coffee

it is cold as usual
and the heavy rain last night just stops

that must make me survive
but it is as personal as the

armpits

it could even be the bland taste of my
own saliva

keeping myself intact with my own
resources

nothing about cups of coffee and

melting butters
it is the fingers that we press upon

words that we play with our own tongues

hugged by our teeth