Hey. I wrote a poem this morning. Here it is:
Remorse
When at the bookstore
my mind becomes a starving seal,
performing flips and tricks,
showing its zeal, beckoning
words into the fold to feed
the hunger of the heart.
After a technicolor
beach ball deflates upon
my peak, and my cheek feels
the plastic of purchase, I
leave with five or six
books, guiltless.
That's when I recall
the library
with the simple
sentence
of smell.
