A worm updates itself

Never mind the Tree of Knowledge:
I’d sooner get my teeth into a book, or
better still a row – complete works
from long ago, not bleached or sized.
Give me the tender wrap of calves shaved thin,
a volume in a warm damp room, its spine
relaxed in fishy corrugations. I’ve delved
into the great minds of the past, chewed over
their hypotheses, digested fantasies
and left behind a dust sucked dry of thought.

But things are harder now: I crack
my head on plastic, slip on silicon.
Yet I’ll survive – I’ve found a way
to tunnel the soft underside of 0 and 1.

Gill Learner

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