At Barnes & Noble there used to be a particular copy of a particular book
with trees on the cover
in brown and orange smeary colors
and christened, “Wayfaring: Essays Pleasant and Unpleasant”.
But no longer does it reside at the afore-mentioned store
No longer does it call Barnes & Noble its home
For it has been purchased
and duly relocated to a chest of drawers
in my living room
where it sat collecting dust for two weeks
because I have not been home long enough to attend to its beckoning allure,
and I also was distracted by a fat (there is no other word for it) volume
of stories by Ray Bradbury.
(some of those stories were scary.)
But I digress, and thus repent
for straying from the subject.
Where was I?
I return to the forgotten book about essays.
On April 12th
which is today
I began to read it.
Now is the time when I must confess
and own to my shameful plagiarism
because in this book with the brown/orange/smeary cover
there was an essay
addressing the works of a certain Kahlil Gibran
in such a style
as silently begged to be stolen.
So I confess I have become a thief, a robber, a burglar, and a plagiarist.
Perhaps I should be ashamed.
which I’m not. at all.
But it would be nice to to justify this shamelessness
by quoting someone I can’t remember
“Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal.”
and, by quoting this, reason myself into thinking
that I’m becoming less amateur-ish,
which might actually be true,
except that I
can’t end sentences
or call a concise end to my own verbal Wayfaring