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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I am here at the library of hours chunks of time are strewn ragged shelf after shelf here's an early birthday wafting through this strange corridor wind the one where I struggled to blow the flame out of the last few candles there along the staircase tumbling down the rafters is me about eight tumbling down a steep hilly street in effort to keep up with my older brother riding on a skateboard and up there giving a creak to the chandelier I asked the girl of my dreams out at a junior high dance she said she had a boyfriend I remember thinking but you're only thirteen and you live in Rhode Island even higher up above the colored-glass I am in Vegas surrounded by television writers and drinking too much walking alone down an empty strip in broad daylight while down here near my feet the children with autism grow like mushrooms around me bobbing with mute pleading then drawing away then signing thank-you cards in my departure long story short I can't keep this up the library is closing the self has splintered and scattered and I am reeling from my own multitude I walk towards the doors and the librarian stops me saying come back tomorrow new moments are arriving this circus of memory will be your legacy I don't trust his smile legacy I smirked at the word as I sped my lightning beetle onto the thoroughfare the throttle humming and my mind drifting into the all-possible clouds above
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