papayablacksheep

My Complaint (To Jennfer) nevertheless the inscription is there, no meager smudge, black as plague, right on the title page of a volume so thin it wouldn’t take but half a space on any shelf, a demitome found abandoned among the stacks of a used book store, on sale for three and a half bucks – three and a half bucks – in two thousand and eight, with the original price, thirteen ninety-five, still in bold black print on the back, clearly insinuating something of the book’s worth, at a time when gas is four forty-something a gallon and my latte has cost me three eighty-five. Every time I open the book I can