Tuesday, 28 May 2013

Looking (after Hay)

went missing for hours,
drifted in and out of shops,
with scraps of paper,
names of elusive books,
written down, to look for lost pleasures,
to fill in the blanks, left at home.
I Walked with open mind,
followed random navigation,
echoes reverberating with voluptuous tranquility,
it began to rain, saw poets,making a run for it,
turning on their heels, running on plains of sensation,
I continued searching, leaned on  latticed bookcases,
deciphering experimental  exit signs,
of no return.

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