bait the lines
the blank page is mouthing words
lip-reading as they take the maybe flies
that break on the surface of a blotter
hooking a few into the keep net
they shine in their death throes
and black is the mark of the spots where
one after another the words wriggle
like eels at a weir
they form in single file to climb the sentences
into infinite versions of the old old story
tears run as far as teeth grit by the moment
and creation is a book’s closing covers
THE END is another man’s beginning
the shelves gather the dust of bones
the molten wax congeals at the door
it is sealed again until the moon sets
and another sun rises
in the glint of an eye
the selection begins again
baiting the mouthed words
the pen flies across the page
and lands a book
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