Poem written in two Starbucks[es] [not to be confused with a poem scribbled on an old Folgers Can by Mr. Coffee] Part 5 omitted in honor of Pavarotti

Poem written in two Starbucks[es]

[not to be confused with a poem scribbled on an old Folgers Can by Mr. Coffee] Part 5 omitted in honor of Pavarotti

For Haggard and Halloo on my 38th birthday (Sept. 27)

On One

..A base in the game-of-life,

this out-of-the- or dinary

gen er ic has been

many times slow-tipped-toed s ought


s-t-r-e-a-(king) to the temple

of the green-gilled goddess

coffee-bean G O D I V A ..

..with curly Starbuck crown round standard black/white

hiked on a highest possible pole

[ you poor people who cannot afford dignity of name-brand posh—

{scrimpforit!} .. {bowdownandkissit!} .. {oryou’llmissit!}

Her whitecap streamers swish & flitter like 186,000 mph percolations

waving bye-long to gripe-days

as the divine stamp divides:















How ceremonious can we get with the authentic authority in a world full of teeming bland?

To Two

Baristas brew at dark-thirty

driven by logo in tall grande venti

fly-the-recoop re[boot]ing

our feet to the [coffee] ground

..a push-start by the seasonal cinnamon push-cart

for our orna{mental} go-thru/drive-thru the motions

as we ponder while we plunder

Asia/Pacific Africa/Arabic Latin America

in blundering blenders

straining the childish grown-up burlap mishap.

there is a legal-drug awakening by the end-caps full

of musiks merchand(iced)

belting steam-rammed

jazz of black-boobed gals

& 10 generations of Marleys

backed by unsiphoned instrumental albums from former plip-plop hip-hoppers & crayola-sketched modern-art monkeys bicycling the insides of gadgets on the recycled-paper covers.

*All guests must wash hands after bathroom breaks so they may use the Socratic method to find Platonic love..

The Three

Oh how i lament

the reptiles who gave their lives for all

these turtlenecked


who sip beneath cute AC chutes

sprinkling their nutmeg choco-latte’ vanilla



near boil roast

of concoctions

[consequently, i like my women how i like my coffee]

..I’d give my left

Argyll sock


all 20 10 dollar gift cards with 87 cents left on them

for hi-speed Wireless laptop


by these bubblonic

sorority girls

fizzling the fast safety internet

ala gift of gab and garb

+ bargain bags;

..and painted toenails



on the big piggy

between upper-crust


cause they are just so

filled to recommended


pure honest


*Applications are on the pawns-only

chess tables

that won’t wobble

(even after not remembering

to forget that

a God-fearing man usually comes afterbeing a Man-fearing


For Four

Starbucks is a smoke-free bio-environment

whose shade-plied panes hold out

thick moon space

from framed diagrams of water-color cappuccino machines

funneling whinnies s atop double-decker buses

beside the wicker baskets of Gold Coast

Italian Roast

hanging lamps..

..the floor is gray ceramic tiles

woven from the ash

of past-life


glass cases of designer mugs with pics of mermaids and superimposed beans

are grabby souvenirs so near our needs when we’re away..

%ALSO: (they go well with take-home Rift Valley/Tanzanian totties

or Tazo Teas with sweet cakes)

..the scrambled mosaics by the menu rearrange for life’s answers..

(and are available online and can be installed by Home Depot people)..

0 thoughts on “Poem written in two Starbucks[es] [not to be confused with a poem scribbled on an old Folgers Can by Mr. Coffee] Part 5 omitted in honor of Pavarotti

  1. Little known secret: I work for Starbucks. It’s one of the things I do. Your head is my head, quasimofo. People make fun of me when they find out what I do, being so “edumacated” and all, and I remind them that I was once a high school teacher in urban michigan, and if they find my job, can they let me know? Unemployment in the mitten: 7.6%
    But enough about me. I obviously resonate with this piece of nearly unreadable insanity. That’s not an insult. I kinda feel like I just tried reading Infinite Jest again. I’m on page, like, 642. Your poem is dense and rewarding. Starbucks is a crazy crossroads of corporate mastery and dirt (the beans and where they come from). Sometimes I lose my head in there too, except I’m behind the bar, making your drink and smiling.

  2. yeah, the poem comes across as a backhanded compliment grudgingly given, but truth is, i go to Starbucks very often…even though it’s a corporate chain and all that stuff. i feel a certain restfulness and belonging, as do many others, and the poem is just a trip into the psychology of that allure. Misener, let me know whoever makes fun of you for working there and i’ll drive from ‘cowboy capital of the world’ texas to lansing and kick their fucking ass while sipping a mocha frapuchino. Then i’ll drive you down here and get you a teaching job at the prison i work at. In the meantime, turn up your Pavarotti, my friend, this is for you:
    Fe-Fi Five (The Omitted)
    Estimating “IS THIS IT ?”
    Cafe Estima
    before mating season
    Coo-Cooing a rub-sorta-grind
    with Yukon Verona Serena
    rigidity = bending the rules
    of the itty-bitty ding- dong-ditching rulers
    in your imagined all-against-tall
    made-up make-out
    You have to pogo-stick to what
    you’re good at and question mark
    your territory:
    “”why is my happy-medium making me miserable?””
    ..like you’re doin’ the whole down and out and out and about
    multi-tasking while you’re multi-asking
    soluble solutions
    that don’t smoke
    in chemical reactions
    out of your element
    in the
    period{ic} chart which has no
    particular rhyme of the month..
    You Do It ..to be kind
    in kind {and yes, it takes all kinds}
    cutting out the heart
    in the heart of the
    ‘what’s the matter?’ ……….SsSsS..SPLAT…er!
    Hey U Soggy Sappy Capital Mentality,
    Where’s ow[!]er/(our) Vice-Versa Pas{sport Visa
    for these
    T /r A V e L s

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