This is the story.
Books are not for the faint of heart.
Books will turn your head
to heresy, make you believe
the unbelievable,
a Fool, a changeling, or a woman.
There is danger
in the written word, a threat
in the crisp murmur
of the flicking pages.
Libraries – little more than cemeteries
for the sleepless.
Books will turn your head
to heresy, make you believe
the unbelievable,
especially
if you happen to bea Fool, a changeling, or a woman.
There is danger
in the written word, a threat
in the crisp murmur
of the flicking pages.
Libraries – little more than cemeteries
for the sleepless.
We have heard this story
over many lives.
It has been trickled
down to us through poisoned
funnels over centuries.
from their own bosoms,
to bury themselves
like wailing refectories
over many lives.
It has been trickled
down to us through poisoned
funnels over centuries.
Our mothers
had to rip the vellum rawfrom their own bosoms,
to bury themselves
alive
in maternity wardslike wailing refectories
to unravel
this one story.And we,
intoxicated with their weepingmilk, armed with our fathers’
shovels, poised to dig.
Whose story shall we bury
when the time comes?
when the time comes?
