grindfilter

grindfilter

Photo by: Shige Moriya

Creamy toffee caramel linen whites
Poured out of a cold glass
With all the potential of calories to burn
a young life proud in oil
Standing low to grind the ground more
To pick sort filter pour– to slave
To turn the beans into dark wine
Pinch salt dash sweet
All fingers and toes and lovely elbows
Calloused but deft
Working with the spices cups and bowls
Wood core poker stir grind mortar and pestle of stone
While eating seeds with shells and husks that stick in places in the mouth that are impossible to reach
Pop corn in the throat and on the lips
Spit them out politely
Glance around did any one see?
Bird seed and haughty bird you are
Husks covering the eyes
Tamale eyes
Reach to the back of the tongue
Pull out the last straw
There’s a pile of the mess you made from your labors
The bean waste used
Cry there on the pile with sounds of a stubborn child creature dragon greedy and gluttonous there on a pile of destruction
for the cause of god
Leap up to fight and accuse
Defend the livid rage that is Moebius
Until quiet
And you are left one minute in the blackness
{with a smell in your nose- a taste in your mouth}
and the isolation and a comfortable static white noise
All of it gives way to the sight of Jupiter lungs stealing all the smell
Jupiter lungs stealing all the white sound transmuting it to respiration in lead heavy air
Strong gravitational pull of a passive planet not a god but the glory of science fiction laying on tiled floor in storm bands and striated colors warmer than Saturnalia and brewing little chaos-es from the brown bean ground the pathway to god far below
Sweet high sweet by and by here and after
Breathing the gasses of Jupiter
Sweet Pea pink flowers rise on into the sky
Parting the blue with a delicate shape and a friendly color
On the dunes where goats leap blessed in ignorance
Friendly, with a gaze a bit stupid and loose wristed