Two shots of blackened caffeine
To harden my veins ’til I have no choice
But to stand upright with stand-still eyelids.
The one stop shop to no stop.
The Jazz Age in a Styrofoam cup.
Fitzgerald’s active displeasure
Sprinkled as a galaxy swirl
On top of a white cloud,
Flavorful enough to inspire.
I awoke somewhat alive,
But now I’m lively dead.
Refill me again and again
Until I tremble and shake so much
I see beyond my imagined infinity.