On Being Ashamed of Not Finishing Books
The books I have not finished line a shelf in my bedroom - they stare down at me as I sleep
mocking my own production - How the fuck dare I
demand eyes when I can't even...
I could burn them -
hide the evidence - keep my cat warm on winter nights when the heater is broken and I don't have enough blankets - there are never enough blankets
I could knit them - make a quilt - could learn form them the shape of comfort
While I sleep the spines unfurl and reach out from their dusty corners - their bookmarks are tongues speaking in words I have not heard
The pages are snow - are the crust in your eyes - are the lidless idylls of ancient gods
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