Dark Dens of Wisdom

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A little black coffee in my mug,
walkin’ the dingy, dusty aisles
for hours taking in the musty scent
of century-old hardbacks. Browsing
the shelves, reading vintage
love-letters scribbled on back covers
from a time no more. Flipping through
wine-stained pages. Finding rare little
gems stacked in the back where
Poe sits sullenly on top Tolstoy.
Dostoyevsky next to Dante.

It’s so damn tragic
that these second-hand
bookshops – these dark
dens of wisdom –
are slowly vanishing
into the crevices
of time.

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