every so often
I’ll take my coffee
black and bitter
no cream to bend
the arrow’s shot
towards its target
no sugar to make it
a glancing blow
or a just-missed
but that direct hit
on the day’s beginning
a sobering slap
the second wakeup
after one false start
to be back on my mark
ready and set
to bolt
the horse in an open field
and just enough pluck
to piss off the grasses
and the morning sleepers
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