I get boxes of books on occasion.
I skim a bit of each.
So many are poorly written,
Or have detailed sex scenes,
Or constant unnecessary profanity,
I discard them in minutes.
But there are usually a few
That appeal to me in writing quality
Or topic,
And those I set aside for later.
Until I realized I could no longer
Enter my storage space,
Filled with boxes and books and stacks.
I have organized.
A bookcase of books that I will keep,
Because I want to,
Even if I never read them
(Though I hope I will).
And a wall of shelves,
Now stacked two deep,
Of books that need attention.
I can see the outline of the project,
A mountain of information to sift.
How did I get this behind?
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