book

an open book
perhaps thrown
from a car
lying in the litter

the spine damaged
soaked through
scuffed covers
all ripped
but intelligible

the reflections inside
could still be made out
one reading
“I am an open book”
another
“all about secrets”

the font claimed to be
“All-Wisdom”
sans-serif
and the type
was cast
in a multitude
of voices

whole chapters
given over
to self-pity
or excoriations
about abandonments
and betrayals
still other chapters
triumphant
or wistful
raging
or terrified

contradictions abound
course humour
yammed up
against the ethereal
the transcendent

despite a host of names
the author remains
undiscovered

"book"
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