Too small

Poetry books are too small. For instance, I was was reading Jen Tynes' The End of Rude Handles a few weeks ago, put it down somewhere, on a table or shelf or desk, stacks were shifted, rooms were straightened, new stacks built up teeteringly, & now can't find it. Anywhere. I scan stacks & rows & piles & schmears of skinny spines repeatedly without luck. Cannibal too; I remember opening the envelope on the way out the door. Never saw it again. The Canary? Oh it's in there. I just can't see where. I didn't even know until a few minutes ago that I had a copy of Geri Doran's Resin. & if it's a chapbook I'm looking for, forget it. Luckily, I can usually manage to get through one of those at a single go.

The stacks plot against me.