Picture: Morning Brew by Andrew Saur
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Drumming, bright cymbals and echoes of Africa.
Voices bump from one side of the room to the other,
Voices of pretty little females, of distant foreign men.
Voices hidden in silence, like mine.
Now, Asia chimes in, in some alternative western music.
Asia, in the simple glance of a Chinese girl, gorgeously simple;
Asia, in her clumsy gait, packed up in a long heavy coat;
It’s cold outside, and you tell me you love me madly.
You speak to me through my dreams, and I know you’re out there, somewhere.
But It doesn’t really matter, ‘cause the Now is unfolding wild.
The Now is an everbirthing child,
It kicks, It nods, It stares, It hisses,
In the rattle, in the talk, in the kisses.
The smell of coffee floats like a wave,
The taste of coffee lingers in the mouth,
What about its sound?
Such beautiful silence in the middle of Now.
Herons
