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Who knew you would fold up
Morningside Cafe, into perfect linen
corners into your suitcase
along with everything else
that I ever thought belonged to me.

I know I used to say it belonged to us
was our place, where we fell into
bottomless coffee cups
and tossed crumpled cigarette packs
onto the chipped Formica table tops

How swiftly we became
mirror shades of predictability
our cup full of the light
tan of non dairy creamer
don’t spare the sugar
with a side of cowboy killer
coffin nails in the red flip top pack.

But our similarities have converged
and splintered into separate destinations
and now I can remember who I was before
we submerged ourselves within each others
faces and the same itinerary of familiar haunts.

I knew the topography of this land
with it’s rubber cactus in the corner
and I knew about the home fries
and deep fried peppers before you
could ever dream you’d wake up
craving the smoke filled taste of this dive
long after you’d folded on me, on you,
on us....

But you’ve stolen it just the same
now that every honey haired girl
just so tall, with that rolling step
coming through the door could be you
and this table is no longer fit for two,

Smile if you're stupid,
laugh if you understand.

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The following comments are for "Morningside"
by Bartleby

You come teetering to the edge of bitterness, then pull back with resignation and a slow shake of the head. Nicely done.

( Posted by: Viper9 [Member] On: November 14, 2005 )

Bartleby- Liked progression of changing emotions.

I also enjoyed it not reading like journal entry, or letter to former partner. Stands on own.

Time for new linen...

Robert William, aka: Bobby7L, BobbyG, B7L, RW, Dr.Bob, Brian Jones, Crypto Knight, Lunger...

( Posted by: Bobby7L [Member] On: November 14, 2005 )

Cafe custody
A fellow caffeine-hungry spirit, losing the custody battle for the mutual cafe? Commiserations.
On first reading I found this a little flat, and the odd linebreaks, off-putting. On my return, however, it grew poignant and increasingly rhythmic. I particularly like the bleak resignation in the first stanza and the sad surfacing of the submerged self in the fourth.
Why is it that small, mundane recoveries such as this always taste more of failure than triumph?

( Posted by: MobiusSoul [Member] On: November 14, 2005 )

an oft-remembered place
where aches trail off to mystery

A rough place to visit, and no place to live, Matt, but the tour was very well guided.


( Posted by: johnlibertus [Member] On: February 4, 2006 )

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