Page 42.

I dreamt of
a book, little souls
on the pages.
I lived
on page 42
and that’s where
all those fingers traced
all my letters till
my corners bent
like little paper petals.

The xylem of red
pens annotating the biology,
every line with a cerebral pathology
and unknown
of a true savant.

There are still so many pens
sputtering scarlet ink with which
to write scarlet letters on all
my bro-
promises and ill-worded bromides
and I am afraid

they will
and realize there’s nothing
on page 43.
Was that it, my magnum opus composed

at 18 with a rose caught between my teeth, thorns
lodging hard in my mouth
fibrous fangs I can run my tongue across?


7 thoughts on “Page 42.

  1. This is … fantastic. Concept, word choice (and line breaks to display the words to their best effect, rather like gem cutting in that respect), imagery, summation … and I would bet that there are pages and pages to come. Well done. More than well done.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Thank you for your kind words and reassurance. As always it is deeply appreciated. I hope you are correct in that more pages follow but that darn artistic apprehension that follows us is sometimes so persistent.

      Liked by 1 person

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