A book is like bomb

fragmenting Bozo's wig

scattering remains

drifting earthy dust

filming on the tongue

mothball scent

brings tingling to wheeze

then sneeze

a full blown-blast explosion

shattering the particles

like an 80's feather dress

The sight of such chaos

shatters both the eardrums

of The Man Behind the Nose

Explosions do not fragment

amidst the working smouts

where printers cause depression

Thraw'n thar gernades

the percussive blasts of chronicles.

Are light-weight feather stones

upon which I can fly

Faith will rule the world!

with ruthless empathy

My transportation will be chapters!

(Sorte d'im nereux)

As each page points the way.

First I linger on the byline

savoring each word

before disquisitiveness

forces fated entrance

I gasp for my last breath

and enter dried piney paste

prone to self combustion

Based on the project: http://mypage.siu.edu/puglove/twenty.htm