Lumpy coffee
cup—made of clay
and grape
paint and enamel—from the
outside,
you look fake;
but on the inside, just
incredible—vacant, but like
nebulae are vacant,
like time
would look, all
looped and piled up—
like the expression
on the face
of the interstellar water
as it regards, by way
of reflection: an ape
standing straight
up in the morning,
stretching, walking, then
plunking down again—to hammer the bones
of a lyric
poem out
on a smartphone.
