CW: (a bit of) graphic imagery
In this café-like hell, my torture is to have my wings
and bones sun-dried
and grinded into murk of a powder
then stirred with a great dash of bile
in the coffee syphon.
Then I will be a cup of coffee worth twenty-four hours
of man-made time—maybe even longer
if I were to spill and stain a paper.
Maybe the day God sends His angels
to close up shop or to call me up
is the day where brewing comes to a stop.
Harley R. Noire (any pronouns) is the nom de plume of a writer based in Indonesia. They can be found lurking on Twitter/Instagram with the handle @mortalpoems.