Book-spine poem

I came across this challenge on instagram about making a poem out of book titles - book spine poetry. Made me consider the bookshelf from a new perspective. The raw material. So this Sunday evening, I pulled out all the books with potential to form poetic lines (keeping them back where they belong is another story), and K and I arranged them, rearranged them, picked and discarded a few, and eventually formed this poem. 

As I lay dying

this side of paradise

thinking, fast and slow  

the web of life,

the sound and the fury,

white noise.

All the light we cannot see,

the fabric of reality.

The road not taken.

Fooled by randomness.  

Fun challenge. Other people's words. The physical book pile is the constraint. And the fun is in the eventual discovery of the poem.