Books

My books stare at me in dusty derision
Doubling with a tongue biting sarcasm.

Books are mortal like parts of a body
Some die away before whole will die.

Alice is inside to fall in a rabbit hole
But her frontispiece is gone to wind.

Like a front teeth gap in the old face
Hissing with the harsh winter breeze.

Silver fish swim in rivers of my books.
I let them , with years of guilt inside.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s