i'm in the cafe
sipping godless chai.
writing novels
that stall out.
bending spoons
to amuse my
dauntless pride...
eating pate'.
stripping frog legs
to the bone white...
dipping tombstones
into papier mache'
no doubt -
vexing the reaper...
as i resume
my parlay
with an errant Muse.
my Taj Mahal
made of sugar cubes
gleaming like a
monument
to a blank
page.

on a table
at a booth.