Dense with deep brown air,
coldness emanating from within.
Beast belly brooding, brewing.

One for every two 
hundred and seventy-four thousand, two 
hundred and twenty-two people,

give or take. Call them oases 
or corporate quagmires,
spaces you can be dressed

in more than a T-shirt.
Feel your breath be conditioned as it leaves;
rub shoulders with the twin-tailed mermaid.

Lower yourself into darkness, eat
with your fingers, your wallet, your planet.
Drink identically and nearly caffeine-free in 70 countries.

Dip yourself in syrup, insulated from real life.
And when they call your name – Bernard – do not correct them. 
Forget yourself, one cup at a time.