caffeine

The poem is caffeine,
a morning cup of coffee
to keep me sane.
I plug myself in
to its easy energy,
a tiny flame.

Steam dances silent
in the air.
Thoughts trip and tumble
everywhere-
stumble into speaking shape
as paper jaws lean in to taste.

I take a sip and wonder
where the magic beans
were grown.
i ponder the peculiar place
where ideas come from.

Now the poem is caffeine
I drank too late.
It keeps me up far into the night
and beckons me to write.
I let the embers glow
until I’ve seen the solid poem
and the trance finally fades,
a tired ghost.