In a rare whimsical mood . . .


Contemplating Pagination

Consider how the pages of this book
Are forever bound to each other
In a fiction they pretend to believe,
Like love in an arranged-marriage.

Two-fourteen begins a long story
And never knows how it concludes,
While two-fifteen knows the ending
But not the context for how it began.

Four-ten has a parenthetical secret
It is forced to share with four-eleven
And six-seventy-seven is sentenced
To a period it can never escape from.

Five-thirty-three can only hang on
By the comma of one fingertip,
And six-fifteen exclaims a warning
That six-sixteen will never hear.

Seven-thirteen is suspended in a
Hyphenated thought it can't complete
And seven-fourteen doesn't understand
Why it has this idea it can't comprehend.

In the rare light of day they are open
In the marginal space they share,
Joined at the spine like Siamese twins
Who together complete each other.

In the cover of darkness they sleep
Face to face, stitched to the need
Of each other, caught in the middle,
Never to know how it all turns out.




Poetry by countryfog
Read 616 times
Written on 2010-11-20 at 14:16

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I love it! Befuddled pages. Of course if you're reading in Hebrew, then the answers come before the questions. Hmm. Maybe not.
2010-11-20


Mklnay
Ahah, this is a most amusing poem. Never quite thought of pages that way. You should have whimsical moods more often. X3

Loved the read~
2010-11-20