I wish I were,
at this very moment,
at a coffee-bar-bookshop;
walking through the isles
in my tee-shirt and underwear,
sipping a triple shot latte,
eyeing books longingly,
fondling pages and
smelling ink;
my mouth pasty,
my hair wildly
riding my head,
-two in the freaking morning;-
it would feel good
to just sit at a little
table in the corner
and watch the lifeless,
the insomniacs, or shift workers
sipping coffee, staring blankly.