A stronghold of literature
(home a formation of shelves)
shelters thousands of epics
told on a million sheets.
Imbedded passages
stripe the page
line after line
fashioned like parade.
The nearest book rainbows open-
scenes bouncing on my palm-
soon settling into comfortable a still.
My mind absorbs the offered prose.
So loose with their stories
unfurling like ribbons
catching our notice
like thick rabbit brambles.
But behind my army walls of books,
tongues flick over fresh chat.
My ears strain for bits, but nothing
because ‘friends’ will hide, cheat.
And another book I will bury within.
Reality vacations
as I watch the journeys of storybook brethren.
actuality as valid as claymation.
 Shigatsu Suno · Mon Oct 01, 2007 @ 05:17am · 0 Comments |
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