I am
eternally
listening to
a symphony of
coffee pots,
gossip,
and cheap ***.

A red coffee cup
chipped,
sits on my desk,
half full.

Where is this going?

I can be filthy.
However,
I find it to be cheap,
a play.
Oh, sure,
use another idiotic
graphic in your
mess of a poem.

Where is this going?