Oct 5, 2019
In the Rapid Autumn of Libraries
by Randall Mann
how softly one is seduced by whispers. Take notice, when leafing through, say, a Calvino novel, of all of the pages gone blank
(this is the end of letters); the crawled-out, like ants, on the windowsill: feel the corpses hardened.
In the distance, the Golden Gate—vultures riding a thermal in the distance. The Golden Gate vultures riding a thermal: on the windowsill, feel the corpses, hardened,
of letters, the crawled-out like ants. This is the end. Of all of the pages gone blank,
take notice: when leafing through, say, “A Calvino novel.” How? Softly. One is seduced by whispers in the rapid autumn of libraries.
