coffee, sugar, hold the Jesus

you'd think with a machine,
the coffee would come out
perfect every time

the filter sags and the grounds
get washed away down through
the basket and into the pot

the brew is murky and the head
of foam on top reminds you of
swamp piss saturated in motor oil

and all that's left to do is pour out
the mess and start over,
carefully
measuring each spoonful
and begin again

but this time, you stand there
and watch it, waiting for the
whole thing to drop out from
under you and leave bitter
grounds where there should
be a wealthy roast

and how many things wind
up getting filtered? our words,
our ideas,
our ways
down winding roads
and we're better for it,
for letting the filter slip
and wandering out into the night,
naked and
exposed

few have the ability to let themselves be seen
but it doesn't matter that much at all. we'll either
be seen for who we are or our story will get
washed down
to work into some complex idea that fits into someone
else's opinion of who we are or what we're doing

it's hard to bite your tongue when the world
is made out of candy. you want to try every piece,
find which one suits you the best without limiting
yourself to just one flavor

and so goes the battle with the masses
who believe their sweets are sweeter
than yours

their candy died for all of our sins
their candy rose from the grave
their candy offers ever lasting life

but that candy over there does the same thing,
only it did it a few centuries before their candy
offered itself up to the butcher block

and there's candy that refuses to be called candy,
calling out all the other sweets for being
too sugary

and candy that masks itself as meat
even though it has no meat at all
and is sweeter than the rest

and I'm stuck here,
staring at the
wrapper