Aboveground
“How may I help you?” asked the quasi-mother earth counter girl at the espresso bar/quasi-coffee house, “Oh, give me a cup of house coffee; after all, I’m just a caffeine ****,” I replied,
She looked startled, then controlled, gave me my beverage and returned to the cultivated profanity of a repressed wildflower aboveground disconnected from her roots in the fertilely non-sterile soil of mythic satyrs and sacred whores.
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