In my enthusiasms pages
turn thick
turn thick
with ever-more-ecstatic markings.
He said
no one can ever read a book
I've read.
My hieroglyphics serve me well,
though,
and I hate the paltry margins
of Kindle.
More like you, they are, lost
in the past,
words raced by and gone back
into mystery
of thoughts come and gone into ether.
My treasures
require much pumping up to stay,
fireworks
on a darkened winter sky.
My hieroglyphics serve me well,
though,
and I hate the paltry margins
of Kindle.
More like you, they are, lost
in the past,
words raced by and gone back
into mystery
of thoughts come and gone into ether.
My treasures
require much pumping up to stay,
fireworks
on a darkened winter sky.
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