books
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Liminal Joys
The bookstore lights were off. Its window glass reflected red neon from the theater marquee across the street. If you peered inside, if you shaded your eyes with your hands you could see thousands of books stacked and racked their spines titillating to a man of words as what’s under a skirt is to a…
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National Poetry Month 28 – Nothing
A house without books, is like several looks At where the hands on a clock-face Show more than 12 hours in a row, Endless hours where the mind withers And the words you don’t read have no Perch or vine or place to put in roots. No frame to place around an Old Master, solid…
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Ink and Flame
I It was a pleasure to read. The black letters scattered across yellowing pages like ants on a lemon cake, each receding line swallowed whole with a cursory chew. The rain echoing on the plate glass and rat-a-tatting on the thin metal roof was a joyous cacophony to peach fuzzed ears in the early evening.…
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Acres of Memories
When I was younger I used to frequent a bookstore in Long Beach, California. It was called Acres of Books. This place was like Disneyland for book lovers! I believe it had over one million books in it’s inventories, with literally miles of shelving made of orange crates and all sorts of stacked odds and…
The Numinous Cosmos 