in wet piles i hold my 
dogged collection. 
books brimmed with words my 
childhood held close. 

upon whose covers keen shine
curtails glittered buff. and 
hard faced do-wells freeze quick, 
wide eyed yelps 
toward harried, clawed 
half-beast.

and the plots, ghost grey against 
a starker imprint; ingrained, a smell and shiver
of maybe dinner on the make, 
my word strewn biding of time. 

as it is, half days 
fog up. a fuzzed beat 
sways my body, and 
glazy eyed remberer i am, 
my hands twitch hungry. 

my eyes rove, slurping each 
brain scored memory held not
within words, 
but tied whip cracked nostalgia, 
lit from above a yellow sort of light
lends palatability.