This public place
where space-less linger, rapt,
Gives me solace.
Where fair cherry wood seats
Accept my back, and I
cannot adapt
To clatter of Protean
mouths and beats.
I thrive among this amorphous
clatter,
Have grown fond of
noise and unfamiliar
Faces but familiar
seat and chatter
Of voices
unregistered but so near.
It’s like I dive in
fluctuating sea
Where rippling
currents defy cognition
Until elusive old man
Noise decrees
After I clasp and
persist: perception.
Each visit I grapple
the novel mood
‘Til chaos morphs at
last into my muse.
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