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Between Books
I am lost between books.
My once-writing wrist
with fingers, fall
like Alice:
down the dark, black hole
between no paper
and nothing to write in.
(only there is no bottom with cake)
There is just the fall:
the search for the new book to bear the load.
What I need
is quite a book, indeed.
With ink-soaking skills,
understated, guaranteed.
A trustworthy spine and a good hard cover
with seasoned paper pages
like an experienced lover.
As a matter of fact,
it should almost find me-
dare to drop from a shelf
while I'm drinking my tea.
One that's worthy and knows my mood.
That is tough and likes my attitude.
An ally book, that won't yellow it's pages.
Who will tolerate me through the darkest of ages.
Dear Book -
Come hurry,
I have some writing.
You'll boast it!
Until then, I am jotting this down on a "post it".
