AND THE WORD WAS MADE FLESH

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

If ever I go berserk, I won't go running amuck
through the streets...I'll just go out and spend
every last dime I have on books.

Today I've taken to rubbing the covers (front and back)
of my favorite volumes all across my skin--all over my body.
(And yes, YOUR tome as well--you know who you are!)
The glossy finishes glide smoother than the matte.
 No matter. It is pure ecstasy.
 (The fact that you cannot do this with an e-book should not be lost on you.)

Never before have I derived so much pleasure from the written word.
Soon I'll open them to certain pages--my favorite passages--
and follow through in similar fashion.
(This is called absorbing the material.)
I know....I know...I did the same when I was twelve,
but those were magazines with pictures.
I've grown beyond that adolescent stage
into a pure "lover" of the written word.
An ageless, timeless, complete love!
I knew that I would find it someday,
and what a surprise to find it right there under my nose!

Make love to what you love.

Uh oh... I'm starting to feel that urge again...
that craving...to go out and score...about a dozen more.
There's a used book sale the public library
is putting on down the street. A buck for a book!
(Sometimes fifty cents.)
Somebody stop me!
Read the first fifty pages--
if it doesn't grab you by then, move on.
(Good advice for any relationship.)

It is enough just to have them,
Stacked here, there and everywhere.
Don't worry, I'll find SOMEPLACE to put them!

Books up da butt.