“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label smell of books. Show all posts
Showing posts with label smell of books. Show all posts
Saturday, October 8, 2016
Page sniffers
There was a time when-
They will say...
From what remains-
We can tell-
Stories.
Ago.
In this time,
Through these
They found each other &
This is how by smell...
Through the ages
sealed between the pages
Vials of hermetic memory...
Though this does not last-
the notes have all but died-
Faintly, there is a sense
only Paper People
remember Reading.
Painting by Paul Cézanne [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
And then...
Change is like that strong smell of cut grass or chopped wood that stops you still. Patterns, a symbol can be an illegible sign, at first...
-
1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
-
Today seems like a good day to burn a bridge or two. The sky resembles a backlit canopy with holes punched in it. In California...
-
This world is not for breath for feelings also come and go. As hard and light as Push and pull Go. Busy hands and bees-electricity, alter...