We’re back up to date! 13 days, 13 poems. I got confused because one night I didn’t really sleep and forgot to write one. But we’re back on schedule. This one I will leave more or less unexplained and I’ll let you feel this one for yourself. I’ve been having a lot of fun coming up with titles for these poems and it lets me use words I know that I would never really use in my everyday life and I think that’s really neat.
My music recommendation for today is The Last Day of Jimi Hendrix’s Life
Anattā Platinum #13
Add the coffee to the pot
press it down real tight
if the dregs stay at the bottom
you’re going to be alright.
Pick up the guitar you haven’t touched
in months, play a little tune.
It sounds vaguely familiar, but you know it’s yours.
The heavy implications hang there in the room.
And for a moment visions of potential fame
and your whole, new, and honest self, too big to fit
that narrow frame.
You glance at the calendar.
It’s 1995, and suddenly it hits you:
This is the first year of your life.
The pot comes to a boil
and it’s way too strong
but you let the taste linger
on your new unburdened tongue:
bitter.
Strong.
So strong,
and bitter.