False Bookshelves

The bookshelf is the truest mirror
and here is an empty frame
of unopened leatherbounds and
bulk-bought antiques, here is
a row of red covers, there
a hedge of green,
nowhere among them is a
notebook with hasty-scrawled quotes
or definitions, no cards playing between the pages.
Unknown inkings left for dead,
a bookshelf suited only as background
in some store, some office,
some blasphemy
removing purpose from a tool

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