Daen Davidson ≈ exotic librarian




exotic librarian


he, or be it she,
loves the smell of dusty books
on shelves or on hooks
give them musty books

oh the subject inside,
could be a novel of spies
a recipe of lies
a country with no flies,

it ain’t about words

in the broken and the haunted
vapours of a cover
like a love, always close at hand,

the smelly and the sublime

nose that holds a pose
the exotic librarian swims
in the fine, and opens mirrors
of the books, both “hot off the press”

and the old linen covered story-holders

marked by hungry minds
spat upon by dying flies
give the composting, obnoxious and refine to
exotic librarians, they will find

a book for every temperament

angels and devils are all the same
to them, cause in the quiet of their riot
they love the rot of well worn rhyme

the cover and the spine are the exotic librarian’s wine

now i have met a few, of these spiced up
dictionarial persons, with their looking at the book
in hand, squeezing from their library soup
another humble stasis, as if in trace

but i can’t believe this humility

’cause in the back of their eyes
they are deeply attracted to the sound
of a book, the echoes of these feelings

arouse a passion in their bells

and they digest like a tiger

the desires
and the fever
of the reader



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