Originally written Oct.6th before my solo trip to see Howie Day in concert:

the sun goes down
the books turn over
and the sparkles.
they happen by accident

in window panes
pretending to be mirrors
i see myself sitting in plush velvet
pretending to be creative

dress down and look up
sip your latte
from the waste of paper
you call a cup

it was silly of me
wanting to take the magic
out of the coffee house

this vanity
will be a weekly thing i think.

my pad collects
rebellious sugar grains
from various
condiment bars
around the city
as it waits
for me to add
the half and half.

all i need is a fucking beret and a drum and i'll be set.

/tool