Moderation has a tone
Somewhere near middle C,
Room temperature,
That isn’t me,
It will never burn
Your tongue,
It just slides down
Your throat smoothly,
When there is a call and response
Moderation will never singe
Your hair wrapped
In protective gear
To keep the smell of a
Tainted life burning,
A waxed face never getting
Too close to the wick,
Just sits around in a lazy-
boy chair watching
Chaos in my coffee,
Is my jumper cable
Stirring my cup
Every morning,
No sugar or cream
To disguise its intent,
I’m plugged into
The current.
