THE DEN

I have all these books because any one of them might be read ... the games on battles and wars might be run each a different way ... but I have no time no one does to read or play them all ... and it's not like any of them can be expected to survive me long ... but I see in each of them nonetheless the glint of immortality ... the paper map the cardboard counters the folio pages the quarto mass are only atoms in a fixed dance ... what does science say ... that in time they'll all go home pull up the covers and fall apart ... you see I didn't start thinking this on my own ... I was born into a community that understands what nothing might be ... nothing or something ... for a while or forever ... either chasing or till the day you die ... rolling downhill head over heels we stitch a seam in time ... inside a house in constant repair we find a room with no window or door ... no lock no key ... a room no one enters ... yet still you hear them talking ... and the words that come through the static linger in your mind and become a foundation ... we print them on a page we draw them on a map ... we see inside the room