Take one coffee bean, darkest roast,
And grind it to a pulp with your teeth.
Ensconce it in the hollow of your cheek,
And nip at its bitterness with the tip of your tongue.
Take a mother’s sweaty black dress
And boil it in a cast iron pot. Place your head
Over the pot and pull the wool over your eyes.
Then breathe the vapors deeply in.
Bite your lip just hard enough to draw blood.
Then swirl the blood in your mouth
Until the acrid taste turns sweet.
Do not swallow or spit out.
Take one of the zeroes heaped high
In the scrap yard next to the railroad tracks.
Remove two small eyes from it, brown and beautiful,
And wait for them to dissolve under your tongue.
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Hans Howe 