even this

i find
the books still unfinished
goldmine of a gift sits right there
unwrapped and scientific
fiction, the author writes that
it's all about the very moment
this one in which we exist
you're trying to tell me something
about the way life is
about this person-present-tense i am
well, 18 books collecting in bare corners
a countless number of dust particles
and some 60 odd pages unread
later
it catches up to me, all that information
that i need is really already waiting here for me
because even poetry, gets old
after a while