Rummaging through men

like papers stacked high

carefully sorting through

till one catches my eye


Panning the room

bodies converge

smiling, touching

interests emerge


Empty, lifeless,  searching stares

 like zombies, but what are they trying to find?

paranoid, violent, stumbling and falling

I know that one thing that’s on their mind


Scanning and making quick evaluations

behavior of someone in front of a magazine rack

vapid, shallow assessments

flipping through for something interesting and then putting it back


I am a novel with a plot that thickens and develops

don’t just skim over my cover but give me a thorough read

there has been a change in me

not a magazine fan anymore, novels are what I  need