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.