cinnamon orange tea, with a slush of Midwest fall
in the white “Wizard of Oz” cup
it’s going down the sink – the tea
it’s going to fly out of the window – the cup
your hand has committed crime of neglect
it has lost its authority to hold up or down
my sanity – all that can keep
a good glass of tea from being wasted

of the so many things we’re guilty of
there is sour we left in each other’s insides
what you’ve left you may not lay claim to
what I threw up is what I’d betrayed

past winter, past the dead souls
I’m not yet okay though I shun
those who read the signs on me
what do they know?
what do you know of the lives of
the blood suckers?
I hide from the white lights

cinnamon orange tea in the cup that still holds up
my hands know the warmth and are patient
after all, they won’t wait forever
nothing will – we’re all bound to
have a sip before we go

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