Poem: Existential Conversations: I. Isolation

“We’re alone,” she says.

“No we’re not,” I responded to her.
I gesture at the café full of people,
she looks down into her empty cup.

“No, I mean we are alone.”

“I’m here with you.”
I smile and reach for her hand,
withdrawing it she looks out the window.

Poem: Same Coffee as it Ever Was

Truck stop coffee in a styrofoam cup
Idling on a burner late into the evening
Has a caffeinated timeless quality to it
Much like the elderly lady at the register
Who watches wearily the wandering aisles
Of road dusted bodies pouring black coffee
Into white cups that cost a dollar and change
No matter where in the country you are

Poem: The Situation as it Stands

Two packets of sugar sit between us
Coffee gone cold like the conversation
Neither raising what we need to discuss
Each being held back by reservation
This an unfamiliar hesitation
When we loved each other we loved freely

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