A Piece of Coffee
There some a point when you struggle so much with a poem but aren’t able to squeeze once ounce of understanding from it. And then, after having violently wrestled with it you sit back and just watch it, hoping that maybe a gentler approach might help you understand it. But then you start to wonder if perhaps you are the failure, or perhaps the author is just fucking with you and there is no meaning. This poem is that poem. ANd I have no idea what’s going on. I recognize all the words, but I can’t figure out what they mean together.
Maybe in that way it’s like a cup of coffee when yo add cream to it and everything is all swirled up and chaotic for a moment until it weakens and turns a lighter shade of brown.