Caffiend | Poem
Article voiceover
Oh, when the bridle wire pulls her comb and her teeth begin their play, their tin-can morning melodies are mocking me, so gay. "Oh," is what I say. How is it these sirens strike 6, and 7, and 4? No day is as before, a roller-coaster melody, looping back-and-forth. My body aches with gravity. My blood: mercury soup— poisoned, heavy metals; cold and acid blue. "Hey, Siri, Siri, Siri," I say, "Snooze." So I snooze. I lie in loopy lazy land, a furtive ball of sheets till her ding-dongs start again. Delay is my defeat. Not all days are like this. Some days I sleep in. But then the devils taunt me. They blame me for my sin. In my groggy stupor I pull my eyes awake. I start my upright gait. I wait, I wait, I wait to see if I'm okay. When it is I'm not, I say sorry to the Gods. I plead with them, they laugh. I plead with them some more. "But the graph, my sleep math!" I reckon that it's poor— just minutes of deep sleep. What an awful score. Please, Lord, Oh Lord, Oh Lord, am I worthy of a pour? But that's the drink of devils, so I reason with the floor. Cold and dark and dusty, the grounds make no reply, so I burn them with hot water and wait for them to cry sweet, sweet wails called coffee, a drop into the cup, the farthest thing from Holy Grail, but at least, alas, I'm up.