My views on this particular chain of coffee makers
are well known among my friends.
I've prattled a bit about what the logo means,
who the corporate owners are and what
their politics tend towards.
Their java is bitter and has the staid and
predictable taste one might associate with
the business model that produces
the cloned, reptile-brain-prodding flavor of Mack Donulds.
But i kept going back to see her,
pulled into that collapsing dark-colored beautiful space
in the nocturnal middle of campus.
I'd write a thousand poems about the girl
working there at night,
with the super sable glowing skin
and the colored eyes i only just
found out were marked with such a unique hue..
now that she doesn't wear glasses,
now that she looks at me a bit cross.
One thousand and fifty poems, fuck it.
I'm up to the task, you see.
Because I've not seen anything like her
and she can't possibly be faking that sweetness and those
intelligent exotic eyes whose color i
probably won't ever know,
now,
since i applied my cunning expertise
once again to the job
of fucking shit up
before it started.
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