Sometimes my head weighs so heavy
it could be a bookend, holding up stories
that fight against time, imploring tedious
sentences to squeeze out and ooze all over.
I wonder what souvenirs would fall victim
and what memories would stand up straight?
Would the sheer parallelism of each vertical
pamphlet ache at the pressure?
–
Sometimes my head weighs so heavy,
I want to tumble my library down
and check out a new set of books.
I’ll try and read them again tomorrow.