Coffee and Cigarettes

Joggling porcelain cups, saucers and pots,

the building blocks of my gateways

to yet undefined future paths.

But neuroscience is clear:

multitasking is a difficult craft to maintain.

Unforgiving but fast,

highly rewarding

but without compromise.

Bon voyage across wicked spacetime

onboard my porcelain aircraft.

But it could leave me with nothing

if narrow runway down below me

offers no mercy for landing —

just a hostile rocky tarmac.

Is it even a real airplane?

And not just a primitive vessel of clay

to transport my unrealistic ideas

across wicked time and wicked space?

Equipped with fragile landing gear:

nothing more than my own crippled legs.

Will it ever touch the ground-level?

What about the airfield beneath me?

Can it really be, it's just some junkyard, instead?

A graveyard of shattered pottery shells?

A final port for lost hopes

or silly ambition.

Perhaps, those shells are dead brain cells?

Black bitter building blocks of my future self.

Remain so peaceful and calm

on the bottom of my porcelain cup.

Waiting for someone

to flush it down...

And to forget it.

I am facing myself now

across little round table between two of us.

Slowly inhaling the sacred heaviness —

it smells of coffee and cigarettes.