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In the library aisles there is the silence
of literature, at once fathomless
and fathomed between the covers.
Open any book, like a cross-section
of a brain, you are into the sentences,
the words in transit, and sufficiently -
That's the way I assess ‘em, in a few
random pages. You know from experience
books have a curious way of becoming
unread, and especially here
communicate this as an axiom:
unreadable in its entirety is
a library; yet, one would like to think
otherwise, and prove it to oneself,
reading a book through. The comparison
is space exploration: the unattainable
is explored in single missions; and
like friendship, or love, in application
restricted to a tiny circle, perhaps
to one, but fulfilling the universal. |
