It was my pleasure to write this poem for the Coal Shed Studios Book Arts Show. I read it there on 9.9.17. Watch the video.
Ignoring the binding that once anchored them
into cold, rational paragraphs,
the books were now free to become art,
to evolve beyond the intentions of their writer
into objects of dreamlike beauty
at the hands of those whose
ideas knew no such limits
as word counts or chapters.
Like butterflies on their first flight,
their pages were no longer confined
to the shapes they once inhabited.
Solidified in sculpture,
sketch, and paint
they sang out messages of peace, love and justice
that rang out through the gallery,
shattering the walls
for tyranny and censorship cannot stand
when artists build the world.
Their words floated freely into the evening sky,
as paragraphs dripped upon the pavement,
and the letters crunched heartily
in the mouths of all assembled
as they stared in awe at each
The books delighted in the attention
that their new evolution had granted them,
spreading the word to the well-loved volumes
that sat calmly upon the shelves
in neatly organized rows,
that they, too, had reached immortality.