The Library at far end.
Journal Section. Where you can find me most of the time.
Fugue. Happens when the librarian wakes you up and you wander not knowing where you are...
Newspapers on some psychedelic chair.
More Journals. And there the Physics World I always read.
Checkout Counters . Blur.
Static. Hey! can u c the guy at the end...
Rows and rows of emptiness.
Stories of Greatness. This long shelf contains all the past nobel winners in literature.
Books n Ghosts. The come out at night when everyone's gone home.
I ate a pack of these orange milk candies. And yes thats the poem I was writing, and posted at the bottom of the post.
Timescapes. Did'nt know I can do this with my cell.
****** a poetic journey ******
Of Ages and Questions
An October evening creeping near,
upon a flight of stairs I tire,
endless formations of spaces clear,
welcoming me in uneasy desire.
Invisible wind(s) brushing past,
blind as it is to see but it must,
fervently I try to catch its tail,
hope to fly away in a mystery sail,
A greeting, some threading and blue ties,
with it rows of books and age old mites,
one too many faces and repeating threes,
three friends with three books on three floors.
Decades of books, journals and chairs,
left to perish along with some king,
minions and archers on high shelves,
and a bonfire made of Eliot’s and old Jung.
Beautiful faces and shiny eyes,
no not the devil or its bride,
just slaves tracing ageless lexis,
who among many might one day write.
Time and sunset subsequently alight,
pages and shelves feast delight,
astronomers and artist are searching right,
a few books, Sylvia and an endless night.
[+] I love political cartoons, head here for the best; [CagieCartoons]