Coffee and Incense ~ Sean Wai keung
My eyes burn
behind clouds of smoke
and caffeinated dreams
and desires, so rusted with placebo sleeping pills
(if there’s one thing I’m not scared of it’s narcolepsy)
I used to burn sandalwood for my ancestors, but
now I have a place in this world of
“Strawberry Sky” and “Vanilla Sunset”
and I worship nothing these days.
But still, my heart beats so quick. So
I spend all these days pacing in time,
pretending I’m a soldier
in the war against boredom.
Because boredom leads to sober thought
and sober thought leads to depression
and depression leads to…
My eyes are burning
like that Vietnamese Monk in 1963,
what’s the year now?
I can’t see the answer to the question of time
from underneath this “Patchouli Morning” duvet,
where I lie clutching my cup of cheap, nasty, instant
thinking of you fucking some other guy
to the beat of my heart, the march
of the army against boredom.
I don’t have a choice.
I light more incense.
I want to make the air of my room
so thick it would put the opium days
of the old days to shame.
I crave the heaviness, the
intense heart-attack rhythm
of “Banana Haze” and “Ocean Blue” and
Asda smartprice instant coffee.
Anything I can choke in.
As long as it keeps my eyes