I spent twenty dollars to feel like a sage

I spent twenty dollars to feel like a sage.

But I can’t get past the very first page.

The ink has a bite, a sharp, metallic tang.

It reminds me of the bells that the schoolhouse rang.

The spine is too stiff; it won't lay flat.

I’m too tired for logic, or whatever is that.

I fan the paper against my nose.

The scent is a promise that stays in its clothes.

I’ll put it on the shelf with the others I keep,

to look at the titles before I go to sleep.