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Ecstasy of beginning

These soft pages of hard philosophy
are so delicious I stroke them,
I smell them, this new book seems
almost infinite, its six hundred and
ninety three pages inexhaustible,
discreet paragraphs radiating silence
into the muzak air of the fast-food
restaurant where I take in these
diamond insights, droplets, perfect,
closing the book repeatedly
for the pleasure of opening it again,
this self-renewing sigh that rises
from some shapeless space between
the book and me, a placeless drifting
of reassembling paragraphs, reading
Friedrich Nietzsche in Macdonald’s.