Hot coffee in an insulated mug
because who knows how long I will sit here
I pull out the notebook
A Cambridge 9×12 business notebook
College ruled, I have a lot to say
The pen, well that can change now and then
A .9 for a while, when I wrote big and loopy
trying to fill vast spaces
with tiny thoughts.

Lately though, it’s a .3
Not that my thoughts have any more gravity,
maybe the opposite,
I want them written lightly
to they can leave if they want to.

Scribble, scribble
until the coffee is cold.
that is the ritual.

No, wait, I’m lying.

It’s more like: write a line,
then check out the latest Royal saga on Quora.
and wait, did I lose another Twitter follower?
Stop,
write a poem, or the beginning of one.
Maybe I should read this on TikTok —
Do poets do that? Read their work on TikTok?
Does that count as published?

Google quick

–oh, look there are some poets on TikTok
I’ll listen,
No wait, my favorite private chef is live
and he is cooking bacon this morning.

This is the true ritual.
Trying to chain my monkey brain
to the tree long enough
to write morning pages.