The Library

> I give the guard my ID and he swipes it through his computer to
Gain me access to this place of knowledge.
Shelves of tombs and textbooks unread and collecting dust.
I come here for silence and a place to sit,
Ignoring the histories and studies of things I don’t understand,
Listening to Three 6 Mafia and copying my friend’s calculus answers.
The books could be empty and hollow for all I know or care.

Little vents in the ceiling blast static white noise.
I listen to white noise when I sleep to drown out
Air conditioners, fans and machines that simulate
The sound of a waterfall

I wonder if the white noise system here could be high jacked
And it could be used to play a constant minor chord
And it would make everyone heartbroken
And instead of calculus homework or writing psychology papers
All of the students would write home to their mothers and
Daydream about the one that got away and the one they haven’t found yet