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Mom's House

Mom's House

Mom’s house.
A tiny greasy spoon
with coffee so black,
the milk does little more
than bring us
from twilight to dusk
And it’s every bit as burnt as
you’d want it to be.
And it’s every bit as black as
you’d want it to be.
And the dairy smells off,
but the grounds do too.
Mom’s house.
A tiny greasy spoon.

Who We Could Be

Who We Could Be

Pine

Pine