I’ve already tried

to seek answers

in all the great books

erstwhile banned in these parts

but somehow contraband copies

always seemed to seep thru borders


Yet in spite my best intentions

I found the solutions proffered

to be somewhat lacking

in meaningful substance


Laying in bed

with jasmine incense burning

staring at the ceiling

yet I find myself 

questioning my faith

and examining my life


not seeking solace in Blake

or Nietzsche or Dostoevski

but just wallowing in July heat

expecting better

and getting this instead.




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allets's picture

Inside The Moment Write

I stare at the trees above the houses out my window - and still I get this too. Viva la contraband! :D slc



georgeschaefer's picture

contraband books are still

contraband books are still the best kind