When you live in a bibliohome
the Widow Wyile is fond of saying
you are surrounded shaped and shifted
by stories and steeped in several fold sentences
though you may be speechless
amid all the typographical chatter
you are never actually alone

 When you live in a bibliohome
your very own live in
and out of library
words are willing to entertain
all manner of games 

by day they seemingly rest on shelves
then at night they stretch themselves
on imitation vellum divans
flutter their lie-lids
until they pop loose
set up boutique market stalls
to flaunt their wares
embossed coveralls
pastiche endpapers
entrancing epigraphs
diverting tables questioning contents
titles that lead hither and yon
meddlesome notes
archaeological acknowledgements
and endless other dreamwork dramas
or that other tour de farce
diverting tales of liebrary
wherein the trading of plot elements
swapping of stylistic devices
toying with characters
cavorting with vocabulary
and so forth yields all manner
of alternate storyverses 

When you live in a boutique bibliohome
your home library is simply
je ne sais
chique moins le fric
à chacun sa petite causerie
sa tartine de marmalade au mots
carrosseries d’histoire
catastrophes and sanguine
turns of tale all
casual ties to living
proof entirely up
to your divine devising 

picture shelves of titled spines standing
straight tilting slightly or lying supine
you lap them up with an appetite
for clarity transport wit and insight
eyes fingers heart and mind
enhanced perchance
by bound leaflets relating
scenarios in which widows
and others posit
their circumstances with genial
aplomb to remind themselves
that the world is only as mad
as they make it
that it’s been worse and could be better
the main idea for sail
on pounding type seas
once olivetti or upon underwood times
now electronic facsimile
for dread or better
to hear you wish
is that words tell tales
that start again
when they finish
companions all packed in tight
roving paper board trailer homes
where lexical permutations flourish
sentences flex their musculature hither
and thither (you know this rhymes with zither)
their varied structural affinities
part of the steadfast boutique
beauty of sprawling volumes
tomes bouquins un peu partout
more like those headily piled
stores of books with teetering
columns awaiting sorting
shelving a constant work
in progress 

when you live in a bibliohome
there’s always another story
another brown-eyed mary
another jumps-like-jack
waiting to lead you on