Wake Up and Smell the Java

maybe love is a like a wave function
collapsing when observed.
amber streetlights and skyways
— once quiet as cobblestone
blackened,              rough and
marked.

maybe love is like a wave function,
etchings on cave walls, ashy
rags,                           turbines,
bellowing smoke,
buzzless warmth

                            but now, 
     jagged crossroads.
none of us can reconcile
our bodies pressed in tune 
to the roar of espresso

electric                           & bizarre
banished children
swimming with one-eyed
sword swallowers 
pagan breath
choking,                        categorically

all of this    and more
heartache and turnstiles
see what slits and quantum
tunnels prove:               something 
is happening here