Burning Bookshop

September 30, 2008

I don’t know what to blog about this morning, so I kind of feel like just typing free verse that means nothing. Enjoy! Haha.


Bones knocking against the hollow wood create a resonance that echoes through the empty apartment. I feel a coldness setting into my morrow. As I walk through the door, I can hear the floor creekin’. It’s creekin’ me a song about the howlin’ wind. Through the living room and into his room, I open the rotted closet door. Records, Files and letters are everywhere. Some of the papers are frail with age, crumbling under the slightest motion, some seem like they where just inked upon yesterday. A quail’s feather hangs from a wire bead noose under the bare light bulb. I pull on the bird carcass and illuminate the haunted, self-made bookshop. Even the peeling wallpaper reveals poems and prose about the pending future.


My stomach has a yearning. It needs to see completion. I gather all of the books, the records, the files, and the notepads and pile them up. Soaked with kerosene, I flick a burning match on the pile. My eyes are immediately brightened. They burn with the books. Completion.


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