From destiny comes our definition for
curiosity — ragged dog-eared library books
waiting for the reshelving, theoretically loved
Or shall it be said
that the tragedy is in the glass-plated
bookshelf itself? Locked high and dry
safe from the oily hands of seven year olds
who might actually give a damn.
It seems to me we’ve mastered
the art of saying nothing. I’ll hold
my entire tongue between my two fists
if it’ll mean you’ll like me.