Coffee Shop Perception: Revised

A Coffee shop in New York City is different than
a coffee shop in small town here is different than
a coffee shop in San Fran and is different than
tea in bed with a good book or the one you love

I.
Hip. Fresh. Intelligent.
wearing black I sip my mocha latte with smart expressions
glancing now and then at my notebook (pc of course)
I am alone.
Being here is alone.
I want a ring of power and I sit at the threshold of just that.
Dirty city, so smart and cutting edge
blinded or inspired by the fervor of its self.
so busy so not sleeping
And the lights are not lining red carpets but numbers
on large billboards and that is what I am
worth this second and the next it all changes.
One ring to Rule them All.

II.
nothing is perfect and we all know each other.
we know how the sweat on the floor and walls got there.
we know the climax and anti climax of every penny spent to create this
our everyday solace.
everything is put together with duct tape and Elmer's glue.
Quaint.
we create this optical illusion, a window to something larger,
something more of what we want to become.
We are noon day poets ranting of this and that
then scattering off to everyday-working-job
what gets us by in gross incomes
but tacks us in place down sizing aspiration to wisp of dreams.

III.
I am poet an artist a master of frying fish
I see what you are and I capture it with my pen or pan or lips.
everything I see and breathe is beautiful and real.
from the air to the urine in the streets
to the rose dropped and passed on with eccentric airs, "For you, my love!"
I am a beautiful city and what is not I let pass on.
I am an old 45 of Billy Holidy singing sweet and low.
I am a strain of words set against smoke and sweet and low
dumped into black black coffee or tea.


IX.
Crisp clean bed sheets and book
steaming tea smells of green spring and anguish, long and sleepless
You are in my heart if not here. Along you go with,
to wondrous places of great renown and jumbled perfection.
you in your absence lift up my gaze to starlight
I know your face holds the same, an epic tragedy I've not yet seen.
You are every memory of tea bags and books
the smells rushing forward to what I seek in so many places
and never seem to know.

Take this, a truth or a story
For every coffee shop is a story a truth
amble down the cobbled stone to your Highest road.
this, naked and true, but not perfect or complete or wise
Yet.

I’ve not measured my life with coffee spoons
nor have I seen the northern lights gleam in a moose's eye.
I have times ahead, dispensations of great joy
This city sleeps drenched in honey but I move on for what is next.
for that which is unknown

I don't really have anything to post. Just stopped by to say hi. If i had a home computer this would be so much more interacted upon- if that makes sense.