Showing posts with label close shave. Show all posts
Showing posts with label close shave. Show all posts

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

The Black Coffee's Aroma. . .

. . . hangs thick like a cloud every morning. He sorts through paisleys and patterns and stripes on the door as he lifts up a vain little finger to stifle the blood from a close shave in the battle of life. The jet-set crowd's returning from an all night bout of drinking while he's all-consumed by grand delusions also known as wishful thinking.

His star quality seems to escape everyone who would be in position to help him. Still he goes off each day in anticipation of all of the thrill and the joy that one feels when he's making interment arrangements. He's misunderstood. A book, a song, a TV sitcom part you'd miss for blinking or a winning lotto ticket in his hand is only wishful thinking.

Oh it's nobody's fault but his own. So few offers come over the phone. But he still perseveres; faces up to his fears that can cloud the intentions and bring on the tears.

Still his spirits get lower each day that this program's protracted. Moment by moment it takes all he's he has to go on. But he just grits his teeth, charges in, slings the arrows back into the face of outrageous misguided confusion. And even though he'll never die a pauper or a rich king he's just not content to waste his time on anything but wishful thinking.

Oh the groceries and the bills aren't paid by talking or by drinking. So he just resumes his grind lacklusterly and does his wishful thinking.



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