Kitchens blessed with a certain
                          Iridescence – A jolt
                  From clandestine conduits
           Like a flirtatious glance
                   Fired across a crowded coffee shoppe
                                          At the pretty girl
                              With the cardigan sweater
                         And the knee-high leather boots
         Quietly reading Sartre
                      To herself as she sips
                                      A perpetual latte.

                        Lattes – Always lattes!

              Sepia foam nestling
                          Affectionately on
                   The bough of her upper lip
                                 Mouthing covert
                 Ontological grammars
          Did she notice me?
                  No, she didn’t notice me
                         Why should she notice me?
      Some cretin awkwardly gawking
                From the table in the corner
                     Sipping his coffee
                 In his grungy ass white t-shirt
                                  Even I fail to notice me
               Sometimes. Like the mortar
                                      Between bricks,
                        It’s just part of the
                              Entirety. But take away
                                     The mortar, and the bricks
                              Have nothing to
                                     Hold them together
                                 And the whole structure
                                                          Just collapses
                        And that’s what happens
             When I finish my coffee
                     And get up and walk out the door
                                               The whole scene
                                                                   Collapses –

In the scenery of the present
                    The scintillant halogen
                           Makes mirrors of the linoleum tiles
The refrigerator stands stoic and erect
               And the cupboards ponder over
                           And over a manifesto of disconsolation

-r. miller


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