I read words,
speed through them
cutting sentences,
gutting books like fish.

On the odd and why not occasion I wish
I was as slow as old Joe who used to bring the vegetables in a van on Saturdays back in the day when the town was so far away, he took forever it seemed to me as he phut putt phutted and waved quite merrily from his younger looking though still ancient Model T ... which wasn't made in Formosa by the way although just about everything else was back in the day.

Back to reading,
a bit like being sliced open on a table and bleeding pictures from my head and you know the book's been good when you wake up living and think you've been dead (excited)
delighted as I am I still speed, can't help it, need to slow a bit, be like old Joe a bit.

I suppose when I age a bit and the sight starts to dim a bit and at the same time I need to trim a bit of fat from my waist
I might get the taste of it,
I mean being slow a bit
but
I'm open to offers.