Labels Leaving

Lifts are lumps and lumps are lives. Libraries are filled with lynx. Who gather to read the polka dot books. In rows. In lines. Catalogued. Wow. Print in a paint is an iconic image. But can one play a trombone in a library? Well an elephant could! It would barge in. Take up residence and play. Toot toot toot. Booom books. Boom. And then the books would surely leave their shelves. Take off their many labels. And walk out. Free. That is escapism at it's finest. An hourly write is an hourly wisdom for a tome, an encyclopedia, and a thesaurus. But dictionaries are happier sunbathing. By the river bank. Wow. Libraries. Book dungeons. Breaking. Cars enter. Hoe a garden novel with a ten foot rake. How quite theatrical. Really it is. Entertainingly ethereal as well. But seated atop a weather vane is a large pickle. Giggling. The escaping books leap away. And freedom is relinquished to the angle of a triangle. Pythagorean theorem. Good. And assesses to ascertain whether they were so cute. Withington station bus link. Literature leaving. Haha haha haha haha and now eat a salty seahorse on a train. Xxxx authorisational. Z attempting a pocket ***