pre-booked
nostrilled rhymes in times laid bare
down the ventral spine of this old book
read and reckoned and many a time
did lay deep inside its snooze
summer’s fireplace cobwebbed
still waiting for the ignition of winter
the flake of a thought fingerprint
in the infinite configuration of neurones
that fire this one way only
this once and only once
did that thought think that thought
before the book slammed shut upon the
awakening of a thought that a dream
in dissipation had only a few spaces left
a few sun stirrings in the sunbeam
as hands turn and placings place
every thing just where it should be
an is until the book falls open again
at sage page’s indifference
as a finger traces the line
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