2/22/2012
2/18/2012
2/10/2012
Coffee cup and Fly. The How and the Why.
Coffee cup is stuck. It asks for help from little fly.
Fly flies by, it doesn’t care- that coffee cup would go nowhere anyway.
“Anyway anyway let's go away on holiday, somewhere far, somewhere near, anywhere that isn’t here.
“Lets fly away. Get all your friends. Go get your little flying fly friends little fly and hoist me up on strings you found in the garden.
“Use sticky sap and hoist me up on strings you found in the garden.” Says coffee cup.
It’s much bigger than fly but its not as smart or free. It’s not as smart or free as fly, but maybe freer than you or me.
Fly keeps flying- that’s just what it does. It crawls to break the pattern but it’s happiest in sky.
Or air I should say, no sky up here.
No sky up here in the glass and steel, just air condition-hum and baby squeal.
"Garden, garden, yes.. I’ve heard of that. I think some parts of me were once something like that." Sometimes coffee cup sees it's kind dissected and put in colour coded bins.
For some reason green bin makes it’s skin think of a long gone home its never known.
Fly doesn’t care much for gardens never known.
It makes the most of its time. A day to fly and to crawl and to die.
A day doesn’t leave much time to sit and wonder why it’s not outside.
Coffee cup is half empty of it’s familiar exotic insides.
It doesn’t think much of itself or those beans and that milk and that sugar picked by who knows who who knows how who knows when.
It just gets filled up with that stuff.
But coffee itself faintly remembers the kiss of sunshine.
“Hot place I think... Hot light. Then a hand. Then a long while in cold dark, and now... What’s this? Hot drink.” A passing whisper swirls up and out the escape hole at the top.
Coffee cup thinks coffee is full of itself. It’s growing bitter and it's belly feels burnt.
Fly might go in a bit.
Something calls from over there somewhere.
Coffee cup would like to see but it’s not got much choice but to sit here with me.
Fly flies by, it doesn’t care- that coffee cup would go nowhere anyway.
“Anyway anyway let's go away on holiday, somewhere far, somewhere near, anywhere that isn’t here.
“Lets fly away. Get all your friends. Go get your little flying fly friends little fly and hoist me up on strings you found in the garden.
“Use sticky sap and hoist me up on strings you found in the garden.” Says coffee cup.
It’s much bigger than fly but its not as smart or free. It’s not as smart or free as fly, but maybe freer than you or me.
Fly keeps flying- that’s just what it does. It crawls to break the pattern but it’s happiest in sky.
Or air I should say, no sky up here.
No sky up here in the glass and steel, just air condition-hum and baby squeal.
"Garden, garden, yes.. I’ve heard of that. I think some parts of me were once something like that." Sometimes coffee cup sees it's kind dissected and put in colour coded bins.
For some reason green bin makes it’s skin think of a long gone home its never known.
Fly doesn’t care much for gardens never known.
It makes the most of its time. A day to fly and to crawl and to die.
A day doesn’t leave much time to sit and wonder why it’s not outside.
Coffee cup is half empty of it’s familiar exotic insides.
It doesn’t think much of itself or those beans and that milk and that sugar picked by who knows who who knows how who knows when.
It just gets filled up with that stuff.
But coffee itself faintly remembers the kiss of sunshine.
“Hot place I think... Hot light. Then a hand. Then a long while in cold dark, and now... What’s this? Hot drink.” A passing whisper swirls up and out the escape hole at the top.
Coffee cup thinks coffee is full of itself. It’s growing bitter and it's belly feels burnt.
Fly might go in a bit.
Something calls from over there somewhere.
Coffee cup would like to see but it’s not got much choice but to sit here with me.
2/04/2012
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