saturday night regulars

it's Saturday night again at the library

I am coughing up words; he is baking a symphony
(at least that's what it smells like)

A dim murmur is buried beneath the florescent dashes
As the library hums with one million sentences
written in someone else's tongue
Along with 2,000 half-sung ditties
and 2 or 3 original but unintelligible thoughts

I am pounding words now
trying to wring meaning
from a typewriter stuck on the s key

It flits past in a shiny aquamarine school --
brilliant fishy creatures, taunting me to bite them.
They are poison.
Others, dull, care only to escape the hook,
to keep life in a salty drawer.
These are above all my prey

On the same floor, a man's hands flutter and tap,
his eyes never leaving notes on a page
He paces, claps, whispers la la la
I am coughing up words again
and he is baking up a symphony

We disturb
then propel
finally fertilize
the pursuits of one / the dreams of the other