twelvis

i woke up and wrote this:

the library stinks
mold slouches kioskward
large as a mans head

but the quiet beards are there,
tucked in and powdered,
shades of salt and pepper,
swallowed in the broad newspapers

a sleeplike touch to everything
gloss binding and corners
we come in our public clothes
scanning moldy charts for pleasant numbers

mold and acid paper and exhaust
the windows open to leaf piles
a silence conducive
to mold with salivating jaws