The pop-hiss penetrates
dreams of sex, dogs, and undercover missions
a moment before the thick pungency
tickles one nostrilprods a single eyelid open to
shut. Fifty watts piercing
an undilated pupil.
I listen to my pot sputter
and complain, and think about not
undulating aromas, across time
and space--E-mc2, Star Trek
sling shot effect--
At forty degrees chill crawls
up my blue jeans. The feeble fire isn't
any good, and my sweatshirt
is insufficient.Seven-thirty, and bluck sludge arrives
I don't want to crawl out
from under my itchy warm
Eleven A.M., I wander down
to grab the last mug
left for me, warming
and drink it with the crossword
I want to get up when I get up.
Whipping bitter chill turns
ears painfully present until I
step through double doors
to organic chemistry--
the oxygen steals electron density from
the hydrogengives it a delta plus
making aldehydes highly reactive--
I sip steaming lifeblood,
bitter heat burning my tongue
struggling to stay awake in
the deepest, softest
My bed is awfully wonderfully soft.
"You smell like coffee," my
boyfriend's roommate tells me,
the way someone would say
"You smell like cigarettes."
The smell soaked into
the carpet by the third week of school,
along with a couple of
I blink hard and
the clock still reads
four thirty-seven, A.M.
My tears sting
I consider the stacks of homework--three
classes down, two to go on my side;
two down and a paper to go for
my roommate who is staring
at her computer.
"Ready for the next pot?"
My half concious muscles protest but
I roll out of bed
my bare feet hit silky-synthetic carpet
catch my own scent
and pour half a pot of coffee in
my Bengal tiger mug.
The heat soaks through my fingers
and a stray drip hisses on the warmer