Yesterday's Coffee
Most of these dreams are muddied.
Like a country road after violet rains.
Where the road ends and the fields begin.
Puddles stagnant, very little is retained.
There are a few dreams
that wind through the mind.
Like great Roman roads-
purposeful, timeless
bloodily strong, so well defined-
I wake from them
fists curled gray
like winter clouds...
All the players staring from the foot of the bed.
Cold-eyed and silent-like yesterday's cup of coffee.
Bitter-a couple shades beyond black.
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