Coffeehouse Cool

Grinding grooves percolate cool and eclectic, I'm bathed in silent musings, its backbeat raises the temp, below hushed conversations as ambience shadow faces bronze copper moons. one customer passionately scribbles on a napkin, could be the next great novel or a shopping list. Across the room a guy goes 80 words a minute the wind behind him pushing at a solution perhaps, to global warming In a dim corner Venus squares Mars- no space left on the moon they claim their place in heaven while an empty table sits one lone newspaper, folded & sectioned, an unfinished crossword, 6-across-blank; pages of poems, a pen & pad, scratched notes crafted of sticky-sweet missives. In this late hour the room swirls with Mingus, a brand of grit, an aural fury slicing boundless through the air into dark, sweet oblivion between sips of lattes and cappuccinos, as emotions loosen like stranded pearls, fingers burn with fever. -karma