Me, i am, therefore they say i am
Books, they are, and what beauty they can be
my whole goal when i first entered the plane
was to visit bookstores - used and new
and of course which i did
on the same hour that i came in, chapters was there for me
consoling me and telling me
"how much i missed your money, Tommy"
I walked through those doors
like in was a bat out of hell
like i was the angel with news to god
and i went straight into those
sections of poetry and talked and flattered
Bukowski because i told him
"i have been wanting to see you so badly, listen to your bullshit"
the next day, another bookstore
and whatever they say about used bookstores
i believe in people who sell books
they are the people that keep this knowledge
world keep going round and round
and i went dizzy
and the bookstore keep woke me up and took my hand and said
"my child, take it easy, there are many of us, keep grounded my child"
and now on a monday noon, i write
because i am fairly happy
more than happy i think, whatever that is
don't feel like going home and i am still happy
homesickness is a word i hardly use
and i don't remember when i used it in a sentence
but there is no word for missing books
other than missing books
i am glad that books are there and certain friends are there
nothing better than a good friend is someone
who openly can talk about books, not just praising authors either
who detest writers who can say
"the ideas there are so boring, so modern"
have you been nostalgic for something
you have never been through
for a thing you have never seen
experienced, for something you are not likely to be?