This Place
In this place which I find myself
Warm red walls meet pale white battlements
With corridors of yellow—melancholy confusion
It is comfortable here, it is safe now
Solitude is bearable when surrounded by strangers
The humming and squeaking of the latte machine
Piping hot milk, steaming
Screaming, “there is life in here”
Life goes on, moving
Conversations brewing, coffees’ talking
Excitement, projections, “where’s the stock market heading?”
There is a future, in here
This is Palo Alto. The place in which brains never stop whirling
Like the whipping cream atop my cup of dark chocolaty Venezuelan goo.
“I tell you what…!” He raises his voice in the background of this place
Please “tell me what” aspires such confidence and thrill
In this place, I escape nagging doubts
For an hour or two, in this place
The world is full of ideas
There is no fear
Just peace
It is dark outside, so I scramble
Searching for an outlet 
A source of juice for my writing tablet
Buying me more time to escape and surrender
Anesthetized by the buttery taste of a crispy croissant
And bitter sweet chocolate poison
Life is good in the Coupa
This place, Coupa Café