(noun): the strange wistfulness of a used bookstore
we tunnel through
run our hungry fingers
over the dog-eared pages
of the classics – how many
before us have inhaled this Austin,
our hearts quicken
at the intricate patterns of pages,
the thrill of ink spilled;
bristle at the cheesy romance
along the edges.
for the corrugated
vvvt-vvvt of corduroy
catch a slant of sunlight
illuminating a (fairy) dusty corner.
there’s an inexplicable ceramic
cat reigning atop the poetry shelves.
(perhaps he of foggy feet fame?)
ay me! ’tis dire,
this knowledge that we’ll never
read them all; never read some of them again
for the first time, never breathe the bomb
-ination of their hum.
i am un
screw loose and rattling
for the ache of gentle prattling of ancient
prose, the arch of nose bent low
………………………………into another place.