There’s a cunning to books I don’t own.Tricks the eye into slipping from shelves stacked ‘soon’where old resolutions staggerparchment pale and haggardaround uncracked spines. I play a teasing game,ply their pages with well-meaning,find an aged acquaintance,face new with forgetting. Thumb their successors guiltilylike a child caught, ear at the door,and smuggle home each new treasure,slip […]

To Be, Or Not To Be, Either Way That’s A Lot Of Books – A Poem By Carol J Forrester