Open Books and the Immoterate

these people appear
able to read with books closed.
strange, they seem
unable to realize
they too are pools of literature.
authors, each one
head of their own design committee,
arduous hours spent on
preparing the cover page.
yet how they write,
fill each notepad
lock the pages’
ink never overflows.
they are laden with burdens
of expectations
that others too may follow their lead.
but what use
is a story between pages
if the leaves
are never turned?
as if character flaws
don’t make the hero;
like emotions
don’t make the human.
why we shrink
from personal geneses
but embrace the destination,
love that there are details
but abhor their revelations…
perhaps they are frightened
of open books,
for their reactions
will reveal
the truth of their illiteracy,
they know not
how to read

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