Percy Quillwort

Rookie (Cape Elisabeth, Maine)

Bookshelves - Poem by Percy Quillwort

They scattered on an empty street
Pages blowing like leaves
Rustling
(rustling)
With my soda in hand,
with my soda in Hand,
I look at the butcher shop and see my favorite ham (Elmer)
A caterpillar scoots roughly through the moonlit turf
I pause to contemplate its burly grace
(like a slickly oiled Russian lumberjack)

An avalanche of glass beads stream
down my face,
down my neck,
and
stick to my
nipples
nipples of the damned
and then I didn’t.

Bookshelves.

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Comments about Bookshelves by Percy Quillwort

  • Fox Everett (10/4/2011 10:02:00 PM)

    This transcends genre and worldly culture. I almost felt the glass beads trickling down my nipples and the night air. The poem does take place at night, doesn't it? I could feel the cold night wind on my nips. It was really an evocative poem. Thank you for this. (Report)Reply

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Robert Frost

The Road Not Taken



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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Poem Edited: Wednesday, October 5, 2011


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