I spent a youth in libraries 
quiet in stacks 
running fingers over centuries 
things compelling and useless

I developed these habits 
that’ll see me to my grave 
lost in a thousand adventures 
this imagination can’t be saved 

she’s quiet and strict 
sweater, glasses, lipstick 
bothering her on the clock 
taking volumes checking her out 

now I’m grown and I’ve built 
my collection brick by brick 
deliveries come at all hours 
from a truck of every color

now grown I know some things
that haven’t made me rich 
despite all this pornography 
that library haunts me still