Only marginal chances
of finding a Great White
in my coffee
although the cigaret's tubular belly
is flotsam against my hand -
a dirty kerosene color, sleek & grey.
2
And stirring the embers of my cup,
suppose the grinds become primitive shark lore
of forgotten peoples or death sticks,
dry rot teeth, fathoms
squinting light.
Chopsticks
Paul Cameron Brown
(2)
Poem topics: death, light, white, great, dirty, suppose, coffee, color, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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Peter: Find a way of getting a new one for your company lol thanks bye love it to you bye
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