R. Virgil Ellis
The cup, dead-white,
CUP OF COFFEE
has no idea that it waits
for an end of your own.
But the bean, nut-brown,
has so little shelf-life
and so much else inside
you make it bleed;
you smell in your bones
how it redeems the air,
You flutter to the cup.
Finger and thumb
bring china to your lip.
when you sip.
Copyright 2000, R. Virgil Ellis
R. Virgil (Ron) Ellis lives near Cambridge, Wisconsin. He is widely
published and has most recently placed poems with WordWrights,
New Works Review, new digressions, Recursive Angel, 2River
View, The Wolf Head Quarterly, The Lucid Stone, and Mississippi
Review Web. His site is http://woodhenge.ampps.com
and he can be contacted at firstname.lastname@example.org.
Switched-on Gutenberg/Vol. 4, No. 2