TAZO

A dark night with a dark, sustenance . . .

-TAZO-

 

 

TAZO . . .

It’s such an interesting sustenance . . .

One which my jaw forces me to reiterate,

Time and so many over again . . .

I could never hope for anything,

That would secure my future-

For this TIME,

Has spoken to me over and over again . . .

I don’t know exactly what I’m saying,

I only know,

That this thick, black-style tea-

Keeps up its staring,

And that time-

Cannot be reinvented.

 

The word TAZO pours from my mouth,

And for some reason,

I find myself constantly,

Reusing its name,

Over and over again,

For this beautifully murky, cold river in my chest,

Is a tea that lasts, forever . . .

 

TIME,

Forces me to reuse it-

And TIME,

Will forever take its place, in my heart,

My lips long to form something else,

Save for that horrible name,

Called TAZO-

The black, murky substance, which lives in me . . .

For all eternity.