Guilty books

My books stare at me in a dusty derision, their tongues dripping with sarcasm.Books are mortal like parts of our bodies with some dying away before the whole will die.

Alice is inside to a dizzy fall in a rabbit hole but her illustrated frontispiece is gone to wind.Like the front teeth gap in an old -weather face hissing with the harsh winter breeze.

Silver fish swim in the rivers of my books.I let them do so , from years of guilt inside.Guilty of not having read them.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s