I liken the effects of coffee
multiplying in my nervous system
to the sound of cicadas,
cacophony transitioning to unison
on the warmest of days,
finally climaxing, singular high pitch,
solid throbbing greater than the sum
of its parts. My brain ceases to exist
outside itself for a period,
all becomes internal cloaking haze
before the caffeine begins to sluice
and trickle down liver’s way,
as the insects disappear into winter.
by James Mahon
James Mahon’s work has appeared or is forthcoming in Bitchin’ Kitsch, Enizagam, and The Insomniac Propagandist.
