The Library After Dark
by Jared Gullage

    An ancient tome closes somewhere,
    A cough, maybe years old, reaches my ears
    Laughter at the door and hands on glass,
    As the door opens and they step out.
    A hammering of stamping upon the pulp
    A creak of spines and crack of knuckles
    Scratching pencil lead shrinks upon a page
    While somewhere a mind screams in sighs
    And fingers knot up in slightly grayer hair,
    And a hiss comes from the sliding glasses.
    Cars are whispering in the wind outside.
    One light above me is forgetting lines
    And stammering out the hummed lullaby
    That the others already know by heart.
    In the distance, someone uses precious air
    Does not speak it, but lets it fly through teeth
    As someone picks up the wind and carries it
    Silently through his thoughts and out again.






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