Read "here the frailest leaves of me" by Walt Whitman, if you want a bit of a background for this
---
They always said not to judge
a book by its cover and yet
I know that others see me
at first glance, for what
I appear to be
The words on the page are
meant to be spoken, not -
the page just stores
what is meant to be
later said
The ink-splotched notes
in this book, in books
The yellow-worn pages
that all books become
are photographs
The poems I reach for now
the words, grasping
the thoughts here
finite as I
if you forget me, then
remember the words
I said for they
betray me
---
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