Crack the back of the great book
And let the prose melt into memory.
One lovely word at a time.
One lovely page at a time.
Reflections and quiet sighs look
To translate the master’s art and imagery.
My two hands tear a page out.
Each page is read and torn out.
Admitting failure, I mistook
The written words as a production of me.
The pages are crumpled and tossed.
Each page is crumpled and tossed.
I read, tear, and toss the book
To a cold floor, now dotted with vagaries.
Tightly crushed pages tell the story.
Trash denotes the failed story.
Discarding the spine, I’m shook
By the little poems littering the library.
I must write what is destroyed
And re-do what I’ve enjoyed.