Ron Moya

I am sitting in a coffee
shop minding
everyone’s business.
The din of glasses
clanking, the hum of the
overhead fan, the
rhythmic beat of voices
has a narcotic hold on
me. I am at once,
voyeur, and spy. I am
remote. I have become
a detached listener to
dreams, pleas and lies

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butterfly

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stasis

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a-mild-inducement

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