i sit and have nothing to do as
jack london and william faulkner
milton crane and jack kerouac
stephen king and kahlil gibran
stare at me with their plain faced
bold type not really thinking or
seeing but they are still
there and I pick out one of them
hold them in my hands and
they tell me a story without
talking and another catches my
eye I put back the one I had
and see all the colors swirl
together as the world goes grey
and black and white and all
I see are words floating in the
Air past my head and wonder
If they see me