my refuge has often been the coffee shop:
the silt of fresh grounds veneering the wobbly
tables, the boisterous political booing-banter in odd
corners, the paintings of some cult-n-craft
expression—watercolor razorblades and snap
shots of children out of Africa—. i think about life
better in these homeless-and-aimless-with-coffee
digs. because it is to me the alpha and omega—
self-consumed, unstable, and hardly to the point but
wanting to be full of goings-on; a nation of
maybe-nothings with somehow much to say.
this is the place i find myself and pretend a
purpose. otherwise, it’s just the daily business
of rehearsing anonymity.