In the Library
Yosef Rolnik
1915
A book in my hand. The steam
Of the radiator on my brows.
There’s a light rain outside.
I’m sleepy. I almost drift off.
I’m sleepy. People speaking,
As through a canvas, monotone.
A young man reviews the “grammar”
To himself quietly, murmuring on.
I’m sleepy. Through the window
The emaciated street peers in.
The children’s annoying screaming
I…
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