The coffee cup is empty
The carafe that supplied it yawning
And neither is the only thing that has gone dry
Dark fluid spent to some useful end
Not yet brought to an end

No matter how many times
I fill and brew and pour again
There is always call for more
Even when so much has passed that
I am left shaking
Hearing voices speak from lips not there
I have to find more of it to spill
Again
Not only from cup and carafe

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