Sunday, August 23, 2015


      by Camincha
I don't want to read 
all there is to read. 

Really, I don't. 
All these lovely stories 
that sound so charming.   And 
often end so common place. 
I write them myself.    Of course 
not commonplace, though! 

Really don't want to read other's 
except they beg me.    Like a kitten 
scratching at my ankles 
for attention they beg me to caress their 
lines with my eyes.    To share 
their turn of events.    To turn the page 
and keep up with the story.    I do, and feel 
good afterwards, like when I share 
a cup of coffee with Mary even though 
I should have gone on with the house cleaning. 

Turning the pages I find about foreign 
lands exciting characters, though more 
often than not about people like me who also 
enjoy and survive and hurt and read about 
                         others like me. 


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