Empty Cup Café

I dine alone at
the Empty Cup Café,
where the plates are
washed with tears
and dried with
No food or
drink is served,
and for the most part
we simply sit and stare
at nothing.
There is a respectful
silence there,
a deeper quietude
than the mere absence
of chatter, clatter and
unwanted music;
a reverence more akin
to a funeral home,
or academic library.
I go there to
gather my thoughts,
rounding them up
into carts before
shipping them off to
God knows where.
I come to sit,
to find and
lose myself
each morning.


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