Through silent aisles
I shake the titles that laugh with sickening wit.
I turn them quickly inside out, giving each no more
than ten seconds to steal my life.
This is because it is as if I already know,
like a toothless, condescending vagabond.

There are so many of them, I smile.
It seems I am looking for loose change.
Really, I am calling out, asking for
my sentence of inevitability.

What there is
is the silent peace of attempt around me.
Given in to, always, with familiar sting and sigh,
at once recognizable because I know not
where it comes from, nor where it goes.

Come look at me as I walk through the aisles.
You might see my attempt.