Sint’s Caffeine

On Sint’s journey
Bright and feathered swords emerge
Their names are new to drink an hour later

In a miraculous curl
Sint’s sword became a measuring sword
Even scarier than we feared

Then he slept on his birthday
Rich with an enormous emptiness
Immeasurable even by his new sword

The body in a can
It doesn’t know how to decaf
It sees nothing

It’s a wreck

This