Friday, April 20, 2012

Love Letter to the Beacon Hill Library (If I could I would slip it into their locker!)

Arcing innards,
I am pressing my vision against the exposed beams
and the naked weavework of  your clean unvarnished wood.
I imagine I can smell the belly of a ship,
my eyes leap up and imagine what your form imagines you must be.

You cause stutters and missing syllables in the words I speak for you.
I love being beneath the roof of your pale expansive wordworks.
oh to be a pine weevil in your body of thin, tawny twists & squiggles.
I know it is creepy but I dream it anyway.

For this I am sorry,
and ashamed enough to bend my upcraned neck
back down to where it should be
and burry my face in a book,
looking for some sort of consolation.

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