Somewhere light-less he shakes a page
from a periodical, licks the husks
of bookworms from penny-a-word ads.
Shelves squeak like storm-drain rats
as knowledge settles in un-indexed heaps:
he scavenges their racks for glue.
He posits an exit from the stacks -
he saw it, once, wood-framed with steps
when he was sniffing for fresh inks.
He is lost|found, scraping his beard
with knuckles, its snail-whorl strands
stitched in place by threads from spines.
(rev 2, Dec 07)
Rik, knee deep.
"Somewhere dim..."
More. (One stanza? Before "He posits"? Hm. would a monkey
posit? "Dreams"? Enough ems, you can hear him "think"...)
--
-------(m+
~/:o)_|
Gresham's Law is not worth a Continental.
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