The Eyes of Books
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
Books look at us. They see a mouth and teeth,
But books are foolish wise. They think that we
Won’t eat them. Books keep hoping to bequeath
Us something, yet the serendipity
Is that their will and testament is far
Too often read in mazes called the mind.
Books learn that minotaurs are not bizarre
As Christian wonky readings like a blind
Man reading paintings set in Braille dots. Eyes
Supposedly devour the books, but then
The brain distorts their meaning and, surprise (!),
The stakes are set to burn up saintly men.
The Nazis come and burn up books — and gas
The Jews. No wonder books think we are crass.
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