house of books #2, 17th January 2017

….. an uncountable number…. even if I’d started at one, sequentially counting my way to the next to the next….. every time I tried I lost count no matter how many times I repeated and repeated it, eventually…. as though some anaesthetic had kicked in or I was somehow distracted despite determined focus, focus, focus….. it always ended the same way, forgetting where I started and trailing off till all that was left was the rhythm of my breath….once more all sound absorbed into this uncountable number of books… books upon books, shoulder to shoulder with books next to books, strewn books across the floor… am I the first to find here, or has here already been found before me?… surely the latter as someone must have placed the books here in the first place……. selective dust selectively icing some and not others while other specks float in the stream of light continuing to filter through the frosted window through which all I can see are hints, suggestions of what’s ‘outside‘…… the only sound accompanying my breathing seems to be the sound of more books being written… conjured….. how did I get here?…. not sure… it’s as though I’d suddenly become manifest on a whim….. anything before seems unthinkable… only now in the here…… the shelves, stacks, tumbles of books, mute conversations talking between themselves….. which one first, which one first?….. to read, to read, which one first?…. to unlock and unload its barrel of thoughts…. choose one over another… favouritism?…. the first will be last, the last first?….. as much as a book can glint they tickle the corner of my eye for attention… this one, that one, no… that one….. which one……

© robert greig 2017


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