Good book

by Christos Polydorou

What is a good book?
It is a measure of lust,
passion, and desire
immeasurable as still
as a living tombstone.

See those walls
covered in books?
We’ve read them all.

We’ve seen it all.

We haven’t seen anything yet.

A book.

A book.

A book can
do the unthinkable, make
the impossible miraculous,
perhaps even a new mundane: how is the writer aware of what it is
that is

going on through your
head? Buried after thoughts,
global epistemological solutions that
had half-occured to you
in curiously mindlit moments
are revealing yourselves
on pages you turn,
breathless,
active,

as if you are in fact interacting
with the writer. You are.
You are in combat against
the invisible together.
The invisible is a dragon,
the writer is the horse,
and the reader is Saint George
attempting to slay
the winged dragon.

* * *

The ivory tower has crumbled.

The books are now bookbirds in the trees.

Sing each to each, birds to us, us to the birds, and watch the world strip away its veils and skin revealing the birdbones and nuggets of gold within.

* * *

See the world. We all painted it, with our bare hands.

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