Damp Paperbacks
old novel with the author you
cant quite remember.
we can worry about it later
just like in the old days.
now tealeaf stimuli is twice as light in the city.
the somewhat unfriendly cat in the
bookstore on the corner seems disinterested.
watching a woman on the sidewalk
holding a wet paper grocery bag,
her arms wrapped around the bottom.
the bag is falling apart and the clouds are rolling
backwards.
it will be dark soon.
we are falling apart and talking about heading
south into the high desert.
we pass the time by reading paperbacks that have
been soaked in mineral oil for days and
hardened under the sun.
Some call it scripture.
we feel holy and then a little less holy.
your heavy sweater purchased at
a thrift store, the faint smell of mothballs
still lingering on the thick threads.
the cat has taken an interest in
your side pocket pulling with its claws and mouth.
soon the rain will cough up the paperbacks as well,
everything will change.
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