2 thoughts on “1865”

  1. Three poems for the price of one haiku? Oh, Juice: how could you!? First, you lay down the bricks and then you define the terms and last you line up the victims of your cruel plot! Discard infatuations? All right. Lovers? If you must. And by Spring Clean I must infer To The Box They Go! Oh, my! Dear me. The trauma. When I clean my Spring books it usually means re-reading the first on shelf-top. And left. Then place it Shelf top – I stoopeth little other than skeletal – stage right. Thus, dusted. A great scheme to fill a few minutes – okay, hours: I do read fast familiar books faster even – but consign to The Boxes? Backside hourse full room of boxes with no door connecting inside? How ever can they escape back inside to those first-shelves? No. I shant! Shant I tells ya! Thou cruelest of worders. What a wonderful ‘ku!

  2. Reblogged this on richwrapper and commented:
    If you can handle the cruelty: Bruce Jewett has painted a prison in which yearly he consigns fast friends, fervent lovers and, yes, BOOKS to yester-bins! Oh. The Horror!

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