The trouble's not finding
the key in the dark
but rather where's the lock?
The midnight library
is a whisper of pages;
a hand reaches
a revenant
towards the misty forms
the braided ghosts
that never rose up
from their pages;
you try spending eternity
all alone in a book
that you wrote.
Enlarger flash pompeiis
it all for posterity. When I
say cheese, I mean
we all stand alone: the cloak,
the naked bone. What stirs
among the stacks
is nothing but memory.
I wish this weren't so.
Were that we
solid, raw
& bloody rather than
has-been vapors
lonely
& exposed.
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