We read aloud in the coffee shop,
straining to be heard over the clatter
and the cappuccino machine,
making noise over the noise.

We grind the beans of words,
picked fresh from the bush of language,
a fine powder in the filter of experience,
infused with hot-water emotions.

We offer this heady brew in many forms,
a rich, black, sock-in-the-jaw
slam of verbs, or a creamy latté
with a frothy head of adjectives.

We serve them steaming. Our passions rise
from the stage in thin gray wisps,
like ghosts of the words
sacrificed for the act.







[First published in Wings, Spring 2000.]

10/02/2001

Posted on 10/02/2001
Copyright © 2025 Bruce W Niedt