When you find yourself
Looking at that bookshelf,
Then shuting the light
Of the uncommon night
And the dark was good
And the soul as well could.

The light,
That sits in rain drops as they creep across windows,
Has to be magic.
It's so intensely filled with gold,
Like jewels in ***** hands,
I won't hear another word about it,
Magic.
And when we're walking towards a steamy windowed pub and the rain hits my glasses and the light from the street light pours in and fills them with that magic,
I have to stop and kiss you and tell you that tonight feels like a book,
A picture book,
With hand painted illustrations and neat boarders,
And autumn isn't so bad.

Books are like the sun’s rays,
Still giving off fingertip warmth,
Though long cut off from the source.

Books are sunlight and Greek silence
Captured in glass firefly jars.

A book was given,
but the man cannot read.
Another can read,
but cannot understand.
A book of secrets,
in a plain tongue.
A strange tongue given,
secrets revealed.

I wish the abyss would stop looking back at me.
I look in the mirror and I swear that's all I see.
Not a monster but a void I cant escape.
I was born with a heart but it seems mishaped.

Someday I swear I'm going to leave this place.
Find my way to the light that people praise.
But for now I think it's better if I hang my head.
Bite my tongue and drink until I just forget.

I don't know how my story will end,
But I'm starting to think I can rip out some pages.
Skip the middle and get right to the very end.
Where you lay me six feet deep and reminisce on the things I said.

It's in the sequence
within the space
on the slow turn
at the touch of the page

it's more than the optic
less than didactic
much more tactile,
less than merely mercantile

it's more immersive,
deeply collaborative
a match that's unconventional
beyond art, words and materials

avoiding any deference,
embracing our difference
flicking 2 fingers
without fear of irreverence

it's greater than the sum
of its many surprising parts
more than what was found in
the inspirational, original art

and whether it's deliberate
or accidently incidental
these are books as art,
beyond the coffee table