I am not immune

It’s been some time –
I no longer read books at night
I don’t disturb
the sleep of paper
I no longer whisper
with things
Between the coffee and afternoon cigarettes
I don’t arrange meetings
with my mind.
Only words can honour
the sculpting of things
My head no longer
falls asleep
on the chest of any poem
I won’t be led astray by sloppy words
I listen –
The words are sputtering.
Scattered viruses
circulate in the library
I know –
This disease
is contagious!
I am not immune!