When I find myself overly concerned
with typography, when I only skim
on top of words, when they do not burn
their meaning on my brain: or when,
to say it in some other way, when I
can’t focus on the meaning for the look,
the forest for the trees (as they say, nigh-
cliché-edly, to my mind; I’d say, “Book
for the pages,” or something literary),
I take a pause. I put it down, look up
into the middle distance. While I’m staring
I try to connect to something. I drop
my shoulders, hang my mouth agape.
I remember: I don’t want to escape.
with typography, when I only skim
on top of words, when they do not burn
their meaning on my brain: or when,
to say it in some other way, when I
can’t focus on the meaning for the look,
the forest for the trees (as they say, nigh-
cliché-edly, to my mind; I’d say, “Book
for the pages,” or something literary),
I take a pause. I put it down, look up
into the middle distance. While I’m staring
I try to connect to something. I drop
my shoulders, hang my mouth agape.
I remember: I don’t want to escape.