The Coffee Shop Poems I. The roar of steaming milk like a chorus of tortured voices, something you'd hear in Dante's hell— wayward souls begging forgiveness. II. Everyone whispering as if they were on the brink of some great discovery— the future hidden at the bottom of their coffee stained cups. III. Nameless faces lining up to get their fix. Avoiding the mirror, I lean in, and take another sip.
If you haven't already, check out my new chapbook of haikus and short poems, Like Falling Leaves. As always, your support is appreciated, I still find it hard to fathom that a small readership has gathered around my work, and I am thankful for all the love and care you’ve shown my random inklings and vague ideas. Thank You!