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Losing It

I had you here somewhere on my shelves
A single leaf of text squeezed in a spine
Amongst all the other carcasses spaced
Like trees of devoured fruit in ragged line

Ordered not by upright alphabets but dates
Of last feeding. When did I have you? I am weeding
My memory. I have it on the brain
How I felt when I found (or rather left) you feeling

As if I had moved (though I had not moved at all).
I was changed by our intimate meeting, you left drops
In the corners, red reminders of the rain of text that fell
Up to the eyes and, sated, made me stop.

But you’re not in Selected. I need to expand my frames
Of reference. Is it just with frustration that petty springs
Like those you left are rising once again,
The clouds of anger breaking over little things

So my search is hampered by sight? Get collected!
I know I can’t recall each single bite
Of stanza. The art of learning’s much neglected
By hearts in need of a quick fix textual hit

Of emotion raw, fast food for the soul
But you were complex, wiry to digest
Your muscular conceits worked images hard
Set the mind's slow eye an awkward test

But, and here is why my tears now do flow
Not from anger but from that last love,
Of that last couplet, hard it hit but straight
To the core, no need for thought. The sound's enough.

Now your clear voice calls, though your tongue's unseen.
I do not need to find you. You infected
Me with pure disease of feeling, a virus clean
And fatal with its action. So much so that – look –
I’ve found you again, and I still haven’t found the book.

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