half way through the book,
i stop reading
and ask myself,
why am i reading this book.
i hate this stupid
book.
it's boring beyond words
and yet goes on and on
grasping at some story.
the characters have names
i can't pronounce and i don't
care if they live
die, or reproduce monkeys
from mars.
the flashbacks are killing me.
i feel bad for the trees
needed to print this tomb.
i hold the closed book
up to the light,
it's four inches thick
weighs five pounds, at least.
i wonder how far
i can throw it without
wrenching my arm.
so go into the yard
to do so, heaving it towards
the creek,
scattering the wildlife,
the trees
applauding.
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