looming worlds

rows and rows of books surround me here
i adore them,
there edges at attention along the rim of the shelf
covers, dusty & curled with age & use
from winnie-the-pooh & narnia to carlos castenada .....
i could swear the books on dragons move about the room .....
changing location as they feed off of peter rabbit or harry potter
they should venture into the other room, as i believe they would enjoy a bite of something bleeding out of palahniuk .....
but they fear oriah mountain dreamer i think
books
everywhere
words .....
guiding
instructing
haunting
inspiring
humoring
leading
into worlds that breach the skin
and
quicken the pulse
captivating
enchanting
i understand this magic, this carpet ride ....
i do the inviting - opening the book to release the spell.....
but how do you control something that pierces the fabric of your skin ?
that fires & shatters beliefs beyond logic & reason
countless waves of something-you-can-not-name, that zip
and weave against an invisible tissue tower of bricks & stone
wrapping that fortress in blue silken softness & golden threads .... sprinkling it with orbs of light
vanishing from your targeted aim,
then attacking some other black, rotted structure and
the lack of control, dominance & command is startling
and yellow .....
..... careful how you move
careful how you negotiate the treaty
do you struggle, concede or merely ..... enjoy the shift
.... quietly move from the room before
those dragons smell something new, fresh & alive
and
eat
you
up