To some degree every book is a ghost
in which the soul of the author
seeks a new host

The words on each page
are designed to engage
& haunt those passing by
linguistic graves

Too often the smell of death
hangs around old parchment
& as cellulose begins to flake
& molecular bonds gradually decay
countless mites
begin to feast
with microscopic bites
as respected authors become delicacies.

Perhaps tiny insects understand
perfectly well how to read:
wandering freely
& devouring what they please

They're unafraid
to scamper across shelves
& never worry about
what critics tell,
or how narratives change unexpectedl...