Between the Covers of My Books


Between the covers of my books

Tattered worlds await. 

People smeared on pages


My gaze revives their intercourse

In every way.


Itinerant, I wonder 


A hefty fly on crumbling walls

Of ink and lachrymosity.


Tomes of my pains and memories

bound in my hide.


A palimpsest on the 

brittle parchment

That is me. 


My private archaeology. 


Then sepia dust.