Sitting here drinking coffee makes me shaky,
hasty for the minute in the hour of the day
when the three year old redhead with the mona lisa
smile in the picture atop an unadorned table just off
to the side of my unmade bed walks in with
inscrutable calm, the origins of which disarm me
as if the bowl of ice cream she orders with
cherries before even taking her seat is the world
and all it contains not to mention the sly and impossible
smile in that snapshot next to me here, real as life,
owing no doubt to the fact my composure is
off-beam and wooden, for one thing I’m low on
caffeine and as such prone to apparitions and
wraiths, now you see them now you don’t,
addition by subtraction.
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