I'd like to be anonymous,
blend with the frayed fabric
of a plaid sunken couch -
so most can't see me
hold a journal, ragged
with overuse, piled with untethered thoughts
and a few drops of fresh coffee -
no one notices as I settle
into a worn wooden-armed sofa
in far the corner of an empty cafe
where only locals stop
locals and me
I am not a local
I have been driven here
by taxi
to travel invisibly through
this anonymous day
I will write
with no one watching
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