i dream of bookmarks
on days better forgotten
ink spilling over

numbness of squalor
these pages, revolving doors
truth within fiction

on sturdy armrests
hearts leaping from cliffhangers
fillers overhead

like sipping of teas
action belying motive
laughs the red herring

over second guessing
of heroes turning human
let presumptions fly

questions, swarming in
faster than the credits roll
home in a stupor