At open mic last night, one of the participants prefaced her two songs by saying that she felt like crap and was running the risk of having to barf mid-song. This poem has nothing to with that, except she was sitting in the seat in front of me, frequently running her hands through her hair.
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cup
A few minutes from now, you’ll never know we were here (a poem)
Taking photographs and drinking coffee this morning.
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Grounds (a poem)
Ah, coffee! Tasty and inspiring…
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