Cracking Spines

Cracking Spines

how many times a book has been quicksand
for me and my treacherous, curious wonder.
i can slow sink into any twisted sitting,
and will discover
    carpet-dimpled elbows
    neck cradled by hard wall
    strained eyes
    knees clenched tight
chapters after the discomfort settles in.
words are salve enough
to stay propped up. or awake. or to let my
thoughts wander through pages i do not always
understand. what is this ink tugging me into
the deep, this swimming through the undertow?
some pulse in here knows that words
will always break me and gather me together.