Wee Scoops

Measure for Measure

On Magic Carpets

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I can show you the world:
It’s in the Mitchell Library.

Knowledge seeps
From warm volumes;
Kept and cared for:
Catalogued.

Polish and dust mute
The acid smell of fingered books:
Worn pages of known things.

No one speaks.
The heating thrums
In a low whisper;
Cars outside;
Scuffs of paper;
Large leaves buckle
and float over;
Fingers flick indexes;
Pages peel away.

And underneath,
The sounds are deadened
By vibrant carpets.

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Loud and clashing.
Brilliant.

I weave between piles.
Dazzled.

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8 thoughts on “On Magic Carpets

  1. Will linking this video work?

  2. Scotstig on said:

    You don’t get that with a Kindle!

  3. Love it! It was so lyrical in my head and the pictures are so lovely, love it!

  4. eleanor on said:

    Love it! Love the Mitchell too, not been in ages. Your poem brings back a host of memories. Well done.

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