used books

i used to love used.

digging around
in the bookshelves of
thrift stores, goodwill;
wandering around
Valencia St.

i used to need used.

the history of a book,
that familiar smell
that lingers on the fingers,
a faint flavourful
mustiness.

i used to want used.

now, that simple pleasure
exploited and removed
by a capitalistic tendency
to make good,
and suddenly.

i’m used to feeling used. Print this post