Coffee

Coffee can do things to a person.
Hard to imagine myself as a new person –
people say I’ve changed, that I
am a better person, more relaxed.
I’m barely containing myself, I want
to pop out of myself and wail.
WAIL!

Turning back into a frenetic
fast-paced high-strung freak
with the metabolic output
vaguely at the level
of a coke fiend
sleeping only
when the pulse
dips below 100 bpm
dreaming of
revolt and new world
order and violence
whose whirling
fury takes him
from his friends
to the city
to the street
to the STREETS!
WE’LL TAKE IT
TO THE STREETS!
IGNITE!
I’M A BOMB!
I’M A WEAPON!
I’m scared.

Then I wake up two days later
in a dark, sparely decorated
no-wallpaper apartment,
and I’m cold with no blanket.
I can’t stop hugging my own shoulder.
I’m sitting on an old futon, please
give me a cup of coffee.