Keep the pages open
that is my only request.
Don’t turn back, or,
return to this square of ink.
You’ve only got hands
to take with you,
I have all these boxes, for a start.
The curl of a lampshade will be
Close your eyes before it flickers.
Too set in your ways, you’ve got
to relax once
in awhile, don’t scan endlessly
for the point, the gist.
You’ll only be
frustrated at such hierarchy.
If you don’t believe me,
how the birds choose a different
section of telegraph to land every time.