Ode To A Burnt Book,
         Version 1

I was a book
who was burned
one night.

I was a book,
and I gave
no light.

I was a lover
under my covers;
my pages, like breasts,
were carefully turned.
Then they were shaken
and savagely burned.

I was a lover--
Until they discovered.

I was a fire
alighting desire!
Then just a flame
in somebody’s game.

I was a spark,
I conquered the dark:
I was work,
a work of art!

I was a book
and my words were feared:
I was the crime
my lovers held dear.

I made a joke
of leaders who spoke,
who sang in The Choir—
while I was on fire!

I was dissonance;
I was off-key:
I was the chord
that no one could see…

I was the silent
destruction machine:
I was the killer,
the spawner of dreams…

I was a spark,
now everything’s dark:
I was a joke—
I hope you like smoke.