the stacks

i love looking at the bookshelves
& stacks of books of fellow poets
musicians filmmakers etc etc

i'm not the only one
with the obsession
even in this digital age

eyeballing the physical object
with the titles printed on the spines
with faded, torn dust jackets

bring a thrill to this old
man's head & heart
so let me apologize

in advance when you
invite me to your house
& you step away for a moment

to get the beers or go
to the bathroom
when you return to find me

scouring over your stacks
perhaps pulling a volume open
holding its weight in my hand

forgive the invasion
upon your property
the imposition my

love of your books
might cause you pain
i was born like this

is all my fault