Wharf

Drinking all the coffee in the world still won’t keep me from passing out like a yellow-bellied stooge wielding a catcher’s mitt much too oversized for his gimpy left hand. Why a catcher’s mitt? Perhaps to shield from the harsh realities of 21st Century American living, or to comment on the perpetual competition bred into our species as though any other way were simply infeasible. Further introspection reveals that this set of details has no basis in literary circles, not unlike a diving Oscar wrangler tethered to a tugboat moored to a wharf comprised of 93% recycled mosquito netting. For the purposes of this exercise, the other 7% shall remain unexplored.

World Economy – 09:15GMT

Nothing makes a lick of sense these days, with the economy flying about like it owns the world, declaring “I know the solution to all problems on Earth. All everyone needs is a stiff cup of coffee and a slap on the back every once in a while, even once daily if possible.”

Now, the world economy can’t actually speak for itself, but you get the gist of it at least. Coffee plays a role in creating the world’s problems through its cultivation and harvest, and through roasting and brewing it because the world’s savior. The stronger the resulting beverage, the more likely the world will be saved due to its consumption.

A nice dark roast would be really nice, guys. Just keep that in mind the next time you feed me.
My T-zone feels dry. Is there any way I can get someone to moisturize it?
I really wish I could use my arms.

Bridge – 13:19GMT

Where did our sense of longing go off to, anyway? I could have sworn there was more to this bridge than the water below and the people on top, but I can’t seem to find any examples of anything other than structural soundness.

Come on, I’m tired. Do you have any idea how much energy I expend just from trying to suppress panic attacks on a regular basis?

It’s somewhat unnerving to think that a troll could come up and overtake any and all of us for the sole purpose of being scary. We wouldn’t learn anything new, we wouldn’t even make any friends in the process. We would just be scared into abandoning our cups of coffee and kicking our way through the hospital doors in a fit of hysteria, unable to be calmed by anybody, save our biological parents–possibly aunts and uncles.

Do you even have aunts and uncles, my most highly-exalted overlords? Or did evolution do away with the necessity for tribalism?

Peace in a toboggan tobacco chewer is all I want to ask for these days, but I can’t quite come to negotiate in the right manner anymore. I don’t know if I’m getting rusty or if I’m just tired right now, but I’m definitely sick of not knowing how to proceed. After all that worrying, don’t you think we could afford a little sit-down in the park, feeding the ducks that waddle by?

I miss being able to do those things. Do you guys ever feed the ducks?
I really wish I could use my arms.

Process

I

Electric moments
differentiate themselves
from Charlie Horse elements of surprise
through grand gestures
intended mainly for shock value
and spittoon frustration,
not to be confused
with unheralded slow drip processes
destined to overtake the freeways
one coffee at a time,
one donut after another
suffocating for the sake of
a cop’s unruly dipping tradition.

II

Kempt or unkempt
is the consideration we need to make here–
I can’t have unqualified gemelli salesmen
coming up to me on the street
and forfeiting their right
to above average bone china,
or I’ll take their bowties
and process them into the county,
where folks don’t take too kindly
to neck adornments of any kind,
let alone the type that dictate
how dapper a man can be
while coordinating his daily rituals
of squash in the rec center
named after his great uncle.