Seeking Analog Comfort
If you invited
me to your place after art class, first I’d inventory your bookshelf.
Which
titles? Which authors? Which genres?
Any
poetry?
What
about Kenneth Patchen?
When
you go to the stove to make coffee,
I will snoop
around your bed.
What’s
on your nightstand?
Do you
burn incense? Any forgotten fires?
How
would it feel to wake up next to you?
If it
was raining,
And yet
the sun sliced through venetian blinds,
And you
were still asleep?
Would I
get up, pull a book from your shelf,
Pour a
cup of black coffee,
Take it
back to bed,
And
read
Until your
alarm goes off
And the
radio comes on?
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