Hey there. When I come to an end of a book I feel in-between. Like floating in nowhere because there isn’t a landing. I guess when I read I am in a kind of burrow and get sucked into the story and atmosphere of it. Anyways I ran out to buy another book to save my soul. I’ve no idea where the idea for this poem came from except that it is prompted by three words, “nibble”, “outlandish” and “perplexed”. Write about books/stories/atmosphere.
Everything’s atmospheric. So when I say,
you nibbled on my ear it became
leafy and electric. That’s how it is
with us as textual beings, or
aural beings, or sensory creatures
curled up on outlandish shores, often
perplexed, and in an offhand manner
trying to be as functional as possible.