Bob’s Java Hut (Coffee and a Draft)

10/11/12

 

Coffee shop of warmth; roasted beans to heated water to stomach deep warms me farther.

Wooden floors hold an open table where I can rest my feet, an open window view for my eyes to see, next to you, next to something new.

 

(Looking around to see a million other writers)

No one is there-thin air.

Hard to compare while I stare, hard to care.

 

White cup, stained with dark liquid on top.

Not a single drop to be dropped.

Every penny worth of pleasure will be drunk at my leisure.

 

Papers spread out in front, no lunch, just thought and the daily headlines.

 

*(The epicenter of art, comes from the heart.)

 

I could catch a tan from the bright October sun, weather permitting.

 

Sitting acting ambitious-as caffeine takes hold, as we fit this mold.

Modeled and sold, an endless digging of gold.

Taking the long road in the cold, the stories to be told.

 

Making an old soul out of control, ready to stroll.

 

Out of this place.

Out through the door.

 

Then we leave…

 

Mundane holding positive, wake, and leave.

 

I believe.

 

This all came from a fair trade bean.

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