The sublime comfort
of books, stories told
courtesy of a stranger,
inviting other strangers
to share the pleasures
of travel to the regions
of a mind not their own.
A carefully detailed
recounting of a life
not their own yet wholly
consuming one's mind,
imagination, demanding
its rite of full attention
as though we are
mysteriously invested
in the final outcome.
Briefly, we are.
A confusion of reality
versus arcane otherness.
But perhaps not.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Regions Of The Mind
Labels:
Poetry
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