Alicia Ranney

Editor back-issues, poetry

The Library

A whispered hush blankets the musty room.
Pen and paper merge to pick up any
hitch hiking thoughts.
Pages rip, in disgusted fury, exposing their naked predecessors.

The silence breaks by whispered halls.
Eyes flutter, re-crust over in sleep.
Shuffled footsteps and muffled voices drift by
while half yellowing books stagger their dormant lives.
Their tattered spines hunched over on shelves like gossiping wenches sunning
their frail bodies in the fluorescent light.

My gaze, focused, upon the hundreds of thoughts steaming from bent heads.
Silent, unspoken.
Dancing around the mind like forbidden taboo.

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