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Plea of a Man to the Cafe Commonwealth

2004-12-14 - 10:14 p.m.

Click clack tongue smack,
The repetion of elevator chimes,
Packed into discrete units,
of 5'2 to 5'7.

The unspoken coffee schtick,
like the Rocky Horror Picture Show,
Endlessly repeating,
With a fraction of the sex.

It's as if society,
Felt compelled,
To make the sexes,
Use cafes,
For completely fucking different reasons.
Really.

I come to anti-socially socialize,
With my notes,
And books,
And stuff,
And yeah.
Speaking is an Indian blasphemy,
Punishable by you making an ass,
Out of you.

But all around me,
Is jejune fuckery,
Sporadic like thunder showers,
Or over-fucked lemmings,
Perhaps showers,
Of over-fucked lemmings.

Eye-peddlers outside,
Inside,
Relationships the lingua franca,
Bad spanish soap operas,
In Dolby Surround Sound.

And I say: liberate!

Free your mind,
Your mouth,
Your tongue,
By using none,
of the above.

Be kind to the wildlife.
It's got a short fuse.

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