Poem #103

Stacks #1…

A city maintenance
truck in reverse from one flung
corner of town to another,

the sun also shines,
and it is Monday, also.
People gather around books.

We are seeking knowledge,
but what knowledge do we want?
We want supple knowledge.

Caress the spines–pleasure,
while simultaneously lone,
longing love, seizure

and capture my mind,
building wood shelves together,
building an eighth wonder.

How should I do work?
How do I entertain my
child? Through words from the well.

We are homeless, escaping heat.
Among the stacks is Murmur.
In talks with the dead

and living séance.
They silently withhold the
answers. Only time

wastes.

July 6 2015

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