Some chapters close
and God willing
never open again
books
Postgraduate
poetryI’m stepping over books
That smell like rotting onions
And since the authors of them
Are now dead, I’m hopping
Over books that smell like
Rotting onions and since the
Authors of them are now
Forgotten I’m jumping on
The books that smell like
Rotting onions.
Overnight loan only
poetryIf i got locked in the library
overnight
i don’t think I’d try to get
as much reading in as possible.
I wouldn’t attempt to erase the
fines I’ve accumulated and i
certainly wouldn’t exploit the
opportunity to do some photocopying.
I’d find that one elusive book
the one that is always on loan
and hide it safely away under a
big, lofty oil painting on the fifth floor.
reflections on childrens books 1
poetryi know an old puppy who swallowed a guy
i dont know why he swallowed a guy
perhaps the humane society will come
and take him away and put him to sleep
through some sadly not altogether very
humane means such as a shot through
the leg that they claim is pain free but really
just paralyzes the puppy before the pain
sets in and causes early rigor mortis
but thats just a thought i dont know much
about what happens to old puppies who
swallow folks
cusp
poetrypride fills my lungs (not air)
as i descend these steps (no elevator)
holding stacks of books (no backpack)
at arms length
at waist height
thinking how much i’ll learn (i know so little)
if i can plow through these (likely I wont)
line after line (not page by page)
of language i dont understand (its all tahitian to me)
as i write
as i read
lacking comprehension
eternally standing on the cusp of brilliance
never jumping
the sieve and the sand 