Staring Contest with my Coffee

Little flecks pop up and under-
Like sloppy penguins.
My brain is leaking out, mingling with
the warm depths
and the rim that's been dyed musty
brown.
Sucks my face in and my brown eyes
match it's cream-
oh, escape.
Plopping neurons in like the floater grounds-
wonder:
what's wrong with my machine (it's obnoxiously orange)
I don't think these mugs are ever clean-
faint, caffeinated smell-
permeating the plastic-glass-porcelain-
substance.
My olfaction is calm-
in familiar proximity to my insanity-
Plain, plain, plain-
almost meaty, like life-
Vitamin D milk, sucrose-
that's first, like a stratum of rock-the flood-dissolving the world
(or maybe just sugar)
and then comes the black, melted shingles-
and morphs: light, medium, perfection.
I wait, I sip, I burn.
but, my tongue will regenerate-
the taste buds will be replaced-
It's all good.