Coffees zombies swarm,
coming in for their bitter friend
that awakens them
with the warm caffeine stream.

Red eyed dead guys
drive by as they supersize
specialized styrofoam cups of
the black muck that they love.

The cream swirls in a spiraling
sort of sick dependency,
to feed their urgent need
to compensate for a
severe lack of sleep.

It’s a horde of horrible things
moving without ever connecting,
a herd of cattle off for the
slow slaughter they call work,
and it really, really hurts.

It’s a war of attrition,
a sorrowful chorus,
that lacks the eloquence
of any previous composition.

A collective set in last place,
poor paces of a human race
as they squander the resources that really matter.