On the verge, the seer turns the cup
a couple of coffee drops tingle down
then she speaks, of devils, wars, good things
like how eyes can be less of a metaphor
more, of an actual way to stare
he was 16 when he heard her oracle
that at 60 he will start counting the minutes
like grains of sand, at sixteen
he stopped drinking coffee, he left the cups not turned.
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