6 to 7

i must have had seven cups of coffee today
or may be more, no counting the moments of boredom or the cups of coffee consumed
i must have read four pages of the book i read in all of whatever i read today
from three different books that i carry in my bag, i think i should carry more
if only the bag did not feel heavy the way the heavy it is
there is one droplet of black ink left in my pen. yes a fountain pen -
it is not my fault at all if i happen to like them
i should be able to write at least seven lines with that one droplet i hope
and i can paint a dream for seven lives whether there be ink in my pen or not
and dreams being dreams do not bother me and i wouldn't let you care about them at all
i was asked not to wear black, green, or white today and the ceremony moved to the next day
so no black or white or green tomorrow too - i can't imagine a rainbow
without black or white or green, but well a day or two without rainbows work just fine
or a rainbow or two without black or white or green and the visual poetry that awaits the next week
the breeze blows in wet with the teasing rain and brings in motion pictures in black and white
the distant bells ring and ring till they think they should ring and the echoes persist
i remember the bus window seat where one song played in my head over and over again
i fell asleep singing my song and forgot to get down where i should and it matters not
when the world outside the window is only the unchanging world and every place else
is reachable from anywhere else with a song in a head that repeats itself
and i only dread the night when i might fall asleep despite the seven cups of coffee
and it is now six, only six days to seven now and i've done nothing at all