Monday, September 12, 2016

WHEN BOOKSTORES STILL EXISTED

Vaporous doorways
in which I'm never to set  
foot again 
Nestled-back in sub-songs of renunciation
I shook the insects from me as I descended from altars of fear
shone flashlights of plasma into caverns that
dripped with pearl    

Flashes of dream crossed over & spun  
like mirrors, those dusky-streets lining the Naniwa arcades
hours of agony spent in towering-bookstores
where history flapped in the wind
as flags    

Seeing her there at the corner, I'd almost
introduced myself, the loquacious-pearls that spilled from halls-of-jade
I hid in my heart the only thing I truly meant to say
Who was it walked in silence on those
byways of liquidation

Limbs drifting on the dark-side of mountains   
mercury, it was mercury that weighed
us down with the sound-of-silence, in expectation
of nothing yet known      
Clouds that lift from her eyes as she
enters the bookstore, cautiously so as not to wake the sleepers
who astound themselves with star-infested
halls  

As they slip from trials-of-slumber, into a chrysalis    
of silks that burst from faint-reflections
in the Naniwa arcades
I asked her name, & she said
it was
remembrance      

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