baritone raze at the stationery store you find fountain_pens and the riven dreams of dead trees beside flabby exercise books just like the ones you used to stow your grade school scribbles in. you pluck a pile of paper from a shelf, its back braced by a continuous metal coil, and part its parched lips to see what_hides_inside. you flip to the end and wind your way back to the beginning. so many artless lists. purple and printed with a steady hand. who the fuck defiles a book they aren't going to buy? you find your own slanted scrawl right around the middle of the mess. thick black block letters. a poem you wrote the year you turned nineteen. a picture buried between two leaves paints you as a child chasing_sleep. you peel off the price tag and walk out with what was always yours, a baritone reborn in tenor's tweed. 260902 what's it to you? who go blather from