Johns Hopkins
This is a fake city, no different than Disneyland.
How can they tell red brick from red brick?
Is everyone here really a fierce intellectual?
Even the boy fresh from high school,
with the baby blue binder?
Doesn't anyone here ever loose their left glove?
If it were Spring I would sit outside
on a park bench with my reading,
but this place is icy.
I must find warmth
in the security guard's smile
and the bottom level of the library,
where grids of cubicles stretch like
the Sahara,
devoid of even an eraser shaving.
People file themselves away like books,
quiet.
Layers upon layers of information in
limitless halls and infinity pages.
Who will read them all?
What do they even offer to us?
Ideas and Information
to file into our minds.
But books alone can never make
that flood of knowledge
come pouring out
into
the streets
of this city.
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