What type of conversations do sentences have
among themselves when the pages of a book are closed?
Do they prefer to keep quiet as they are pressed face
to face against one another?
Are they like people? Do they find each other attractive
based on factors such as vocabulary and syllable count?
Do some sentences sneak out at night and cram themselves
into the pages of other books?
What kind of fiasco would it be for one of Thomas Pynchon's
sentences to invade the work of Raymond Carver?
It would be an incongruency for the ages.
Is a book a god and each chapter a parent
to the sentences within it's reach?
I do not know. I should open one of my books
and ask it. It would be reluctant to speak
and no doubt there would sentences in the back pages
squirming under inquisition, wondering how I
found out of all these shenanigans.
I will stop wondering as I begin to fall asleep
and hope the lines find their way into my dreams.
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