THE LITTLE SHOPPE OF JUXTAPOSITIONS
Hearts ache at the in
that is not the out door
where vestibule meets an
old counter, recently buffed.
Beyond, shelves house curios
that whisper stories through
onion-skin tissue
when held.
Slow dance in dappled dreams
that touch frets and spines
caress celluoid reels and fabric
as a turntable plays an never ending
ever-shifting soundtrack.
At the out door that is not an in
hearts ache to return.
Pursuing Parallels 