My body drips into exhaustion
and I can only pour myself
into so many caffeinated dreams
before I am wired spark ambivalence.
Arms and legs jump and shimmy
in time with a rapid heart beat, and I call it dancing.
I sway to the rhythm of current events
and try to stomp out every single sound.
The day is a collection of words
and everyone is an extended dictionary
of opinions and thoughts, which collect
letter by letter on my back and weigh me
into slouch forward frustration.
And at the end of the day,
grief tendrils and loneliness waltzes
between my open fingers
as I pour myself one more cup of coffee.
Poetic Trials 