Even when the book lay in shambles

its spine broken

pages torn

words incompl

                          he took from it

  

he took its liberal salt and pepper spices and herbs and shook them onto everything too 

slow to escape his prowling 

too slow to move from out of his way

                                               which proved to be nearly everything he came across

blinding their eyes  stuffing their noses

he laughed outrageously

and didnt cover his mouth

impolite to cruelty

at their snuffing and snorting and feeble clawing

                                                                    they were Unused to what the book invoked   

and informed

what it relayed 

beyond its slender trembling tethers of thought

                                                                                                                              

and when it was Halted

slowly  and painstakingly

they recalled it 

                                                                                                                

then emboldened by its absence

out from its stomped utterances

out

from its blueroiling smoke of cessation                                                                                            

                                                    It curled on their exhaled breaths 

                                                                                                                  smiling

1840-ish,  Thursday,  31  7. 14

2258,  Friday,  1  8. 14