eat pray sleep

this book you are
reading, slogging
through, is more
like it, is a best
seller. everyone
has it under their
arm, sitting on
a bench or in a
coffee shop turning
pages as if they
were on fire. and
yet. you want to throw
it not just across
the room, but out
the window and you
want it to circle
the earth until it
hits the author,
lightly, i might
add, in the head.
you can't read this
mass produced jive
anymore. it stinks.
it's boring, it's
predictable, it's
written to be made
into a movie, or
worse for television.
the characters are
hardly fleshed out,
it's plot driven,
you don't care really
what happens, but
there it is. the girl this,
the girl that, the
secret life of something,
eat pray, go to sleep.
where the hell is
carver, cheever, updike
and bellow. flannery.
and salinger. all gone.