Sunny Morning, Time for The Gardens
Imagine it is fairly quiet
And that all we hear is the occasional car
Rushing by and the clink of cups
A muted murmur of conversations we can't yet hold ourselves
Or quite make out.
I don't know
Maybe we fail at this
One simple thing
The normal world seems to have access to.
Steeping in caffeinated
Public forum of the hipsters
Blending at best
But it's no sham really
Obvious by sheer self-consciousness.
Easier to build flip-point
Than place on a drip of humming bird vine.
Course for charm.