Wednesday, August 31, 2011

How will it be

* how will it be *
How will it be
How will we know each other
When the only clues
That you read is a plain slate
Electronic in appearance
Not indicating any genre
No style or place of writing
Tells you nothing of the story
Into which you have descended
How can you begin a conversation
With an intriguing stranger
If you wish to pierce their reading world
Previous you might comment
The film of the book was not as good
Or the sequel fails the premise
Or I have the entire series
Do you like that one
For it becomes a question of character
A point on which to hang relationship
If they like this author not that
Those books not these
But how will we tell what you like
If every tome looks the same
A sliver of adonized shining metal
And a flat blank sheet of glass
Every book looks the same
No clues given to the reader
You might hope them Bronte
To discover they are Elmore Leonard
And all the discussion sought
Stutters coughs and dies
Into the awkward silence of two strangers
Who have no connection
No link from which they can bridge
The gap between stranger and known
Known and acquaintance
Acquaintance built to friend
Without that first signpost
Of the evidence of a book.

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