and airplane hum
and cicada drone
and sucking cigarette swish
with dazzling embered bursts upon extinguishing
and a dream’s end: switchblade’s realized function
and every goddamn star
and their reflections in black coffee’s surface
(and white grains of sugar underneath, grinning)
and the second-story tabby
and her objective stare past switchblade dreams
and what dazzling hope burns unextinguished underneath
and my six alarms
and yesses that accompany the morning, yesses
and their ontological function
yes to the miracle of pain
and suffering
and coffee
and starlight, upside down like a ceilinged scorpion
and noise from the a/c clicking on like claws on glass
and the dank tobacco smell like raisins
yes and the airplane suspended like a slow comet
commenting on the cicada
and the drone with my package of switchblades

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