Three, two, one. Go

It went the way that Otis said
at quarter to the wrong 3 o'clock
sat talking
over rolled up cigarettes
and cheap coffee

smoothing over the bitter burp
that ran the length
of every stillborn sentence
questioning why
both cups held no sweetness
and why the milk had curdled
before even being bottled

the words went walking
following thoughts that ran
to the differences
between ellipses and periods
when closed eyes
and turned backs
brought worries running home
to thoughts of another little cup
nestled between two brews
soured by famished times

sitting in a world of cracking China
cigarettes joined dregs
like a lit match to the bonfire
crouched beneath breaking dreams
the moment branded into hearts and minds
with one brief hiss
and the lingering taste of ash