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The Reading Life

The reading life is filled with sin.

You quake in your confessional,
knelt before the grille,
telling Shakespeare’s priest
you’ll read a German master soon,
a thesis on the hallowed spits of time
on which we all roast.

But, you see, there I go again.
Bringing up grotesquerie.
Not getting tight on anything
but pulp; detective stories,
horror books, things with lurid covers and
a rote but pleasing plot.

Know this, at least:
in his day, Shakespeare too
was jeered at by the Bards,
because his blank verse lacked
the smell of polished pine,

reeking of pulp instead.
Written by The_Silly_Sibyl (Jack Thomas)
Published
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