the women here

the women here wear high to the knee leather boots and drink dark wine — all with laptops open on tabletops — no eye contact — no looking around — uninterest parsed out evenly for all whose sat after ordering — then my food arrives and i cant avoid attending to it — but a bite in i think — they all sit tabled in twos — one with headphones on both encompassed by internetful exploration or maybe homework — no one talks — african music soft in the corner almost a drone of tone — they maybe planned to come together or met here — but now here they hide behind each other — ooh a spared word whispered after a finger tap to alert the other of vocalization — then its slumped shoulders back under plugged ears staring forward a foot below the others eyes at the world in quotation marks — a sad little captioned universe comprised entirely of the thoughts and subsequent writings of others — this internet is become a great pacifier — an enormous toddler our civilization is — just outward limbs seizure spread in hopes of ensnaring an open ear — my story — my life — listen — listen — i have something here — and always its a rerun — do you remember reruns — that was once a relevant word — i even remembered how to spell it for you — the concepts ensnared within its definition will likely be lost on you so i shall tarry no further — onward to a high hung hammock strung up by heart strings — dare you to twang upon the twine tethers

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