Electric Windmill Press

“Instant Coffee” by A. P. Carlson

I use retired poets’ pens,
and recycled paper,
to write notes on the subject,
of my weary mind.

Mostly my cigarette ash
covers the blank pages,
endowing the white
with concrete charcoal.

I laugh and it’s whiskey again,
two drags off of a butt; repeat.
Chatter infused images
super sensitive and ill, in mind.

My jeans have grey spots
where I rub my palms
over the soft sandpaper cotton
that covers my knees.

Mon, Jan 2012 ‐ Present
I got myself a book somewhere,
and forgot to read it, but,
I remember the first sentence.

“Commitment ceremonies are
far more black than your instant
coffee. You are your instant coffee!”
I put down the book, & tried to sleep

I could never marry my poetry,
I don’t like the way it stares at me.
Like I am a soup shelter
that serves only ice‐tea.

Just yesterday I bought a poster
of Gandhi and Marilyn Monroe,
They kiss like porn stars
It makes me horny and confused.

I wonder if time is a real thing,
if I put myself in a room with a broken
clock will I not stay the same age?
My mind is time and I am old.

Work is lost inside, I vomit
up lines sometimes, mostly
the cold nights keep me aware
that nature has deemed me unfit

to be a center‐stage character.

A. P. Carlson is a poet from Orlando, FL and has a Bachelors Degree in English Literature from Florida State University. He has been a writer at a news magazine and a content writer for a radio station. He has written published poems along with articles that have been in print and online journals and blogs. Often he goes to local open-mic nights to read his poetry and fiction. Samples of his poetry can be found on his Web site atwww.apcarlson.wordpress.com.

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