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.

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