Move Over, Darjeeling

The dawn purloined by a shadowed thief, in the kitchen morning blues were stealing, across the sprawl of formica grief with hot buttered daybreak unappealing. Perforations flooded to slake the thirst, and down on thermoplastic, kneeling, a hot Hail Mary brewed and burst and spiderweb cracked the ceiling. The chain mail pot spilled a stain of toffee and dreams died once more with feeling, rats in the walls tapped a preference for coffee with the legend: “Move over, Darjeeling.”