Untitled, written in a cafe.

Written by Jack Andrew Cribb

It is the end of the year
and I am in a good mood.
Sat sipping syphon in the
palace of brethren,
whose breath bleeds out
stanzas comforting and hyper,
whose holy light reflects off
of the thin surface of my coffee,
whose incantations charm the
beads on my bracelet like a
hail mary, like a prayer,
like a chant in high cold
monastery, where old men
devote themselves to light
and young boys kick footballs
around a courtyard, knocking
piles of leaves into the bitter wind.

Good moods are rare but not
impossible, coming around like
the perfect wave, covering
you in salt, and matting your hair.
A swift spray of the sea can
last a lifetime.
I hope it lasts the year.

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