Instant Coffee

Old Days

In your mouth
I melt
and divide
myself in two
where sick mother fuckers
laugh at madness
licking rims
before the helpless
and unfilled glasses
made of ancient err
after night bleeds
out the sun
into the dew
of morning bringing
me back to where
I still remain
on a spoon over
the flickering flames
of where I was
when I was just 16.

by Charles Lara

Comments (1)

interesting point of view for this one, Charles - taking it from the coffee's perceptive. a well laid-out poem: linking ideas from past & present to draw the reader up to the spoonful in your hand.