Into the black char

Today I thought
of splashing
The front desk girl
In cryptic swirls
at my local gym,
who walks on
Holy grails of
Sturdy timber,
Whose cup
Runneth over
Every month;
But for some
Earthly reason
I segued to
The smoke and
Primitive howler
Monkeys stuck
In pockets of
Rain forest,
Chasing their own
Dreams,
With nowhere
To run, but
Down into
The black char,
Unable to breathe
At the base
Of trees,
Soon to be
Dead logs
In IKEA sofas,
and
the fertilizer
Of soy beans
In another
Primate’s coffee.
And I went home
To beat off,
In tears.