when september came, you said you were sleeping
When the library doors open it sounds like it's raining. I hear the fountain over the top of my shoulder and think of being with people, instead of idly sitting online. I recount pictures in my head and pretend to press the keyboard like it were a type writer, and i were someone grand. I like it better that their faces are fuzzy behind my eyes, blurred into another time and another place, helping me to forget that i miss them.
This library is large and hollow and i think of camping here for days, just strolling among the ailes, running my nose along the pages and sending my imagination reeling. Reading books like pictures i flip them open and grin at my findings. Bernini, McCarthy, Dylan (Bob and Thomas)...I laugh at myself, sitting sprawled upon the floor, unshowered and skantily clothed, catching but tiny words and sentences as i let them dance in my hands. I try to think of which books i would use for a pillow. Just in case feeling and dreaming can be done like that. I'd lie and stare at an atlas.
This library is large and hollow and i think of camping here for days, just strolling among the ailes, running my nose along the pages and sending my imagination reeling. Reading books like pictures i flip them open and grin at my findings. Bernini, McCarthy, Dylan (Bob and Thomas)...I laugh at myself, sitting sprawled upon the floor, unshowered and skantily clothed, catching but tiny words and sentences as i let them dance in my hands. I try to think of which books i would use for a pillow. Just in case feeling and dreaming can be done like that. I'd lie and stare at an atlas.