top of page

j o h n . p o p e

First Paragraphs

If Childhood had a scent, one would be of paper

 with ink, words, & paragraphs like

 Matryoshkan dimensions

 materialized as thousands of spines

 galactically stacked along

 cherry wood shelves, and

 blue berry carpeting, and

 chairs,

 all the same,

 with, like, ooh!

 cubic cushions, flat legs, for scooting, aah…

 

Childhood me olympiated aisles.

He glanced upon pictures, or

only First Paragraphs, or

front covers - bore

smuggling Pokémon video games and thieving shelter, eyes wide shut in rough translations,

digital soundscapes,

digital satiation,

digital signs

reading

Borders Out Of Business.

 

Libraric theft's illegal yet their perfume is for granted.

How could I’ve known? That in a

 childhood distraction I'd remain,

 glued at 12:00 a.m.,

 despite that which would shut my eyes, and

 wake me up, is, was, and always will be

 

Something like the smell of First Paragraphs.

Palms & Veins

bottom of page