Cold, spilled coffee on my wrist, and

Noticed it too late, it's in the mechanism,

Causing mischief. If I can't even succeed

At coffee, what hope is there. Nane.

I have too many tomes, and will have

To run along three lifetimes to

Traverse them all. Shame. But o'er

The third I'd be worse off, blamey.

Bebop shine amongst the music genres,

Given it's on now, feels great, enumeration of

The entire genre in one singsong. Bope!

And taken my heart through spirals.

Feel emotional about cultivating my

Talent into vibey nostalgia show,

Like petulant rondeau, with ill

Rhythm, and sick wind.

Waiting for the serpiginous onset of

Mortality and rebirth, can't be much

Longer, feel it calling my name with

Vertiginous breath.

But there, waiting in that black pool,

Corner pool, with sucked-in teeth,

Is the truth. No, you won't ascend.

Barely condescend (which you have). Balm!