moving in
next to all these spines
glossy and crisp
close enough
to smell the
soft chemical sting
of grease
and leaves
I'll cock my head
to catch a glimpse
Of every title,
axiom, and
bold summation
running sideways
due South
And in this church
of mine
in this isle
on these shelves
next to all my heroes
I'll feel something turn
in the pit of my stomach
an anxiety
that makes me think
I can do what they did
My spine can carry
the load
of all the truth
and all the
beautiful lies
I'd love to tell you
I'm dying to tell you
