Monday, January 26, 2009

Poem Of The Week #3

Ok, this is slightly late...But here goes:

The cadence of another's tongue
Frozen in between the lines
Of coldly reproduced type.
My shelves buckle with the weight.
And yet, each strange collection
I stand before holds me still
With awe and eagerness more.
The card slides as my arms reach.

Opinions?

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