D. Howard - Tulsa, OK (USA):
I happened to come across this book
in the library in Stillwater, Oklahoma
while I was searching for nude pictures
and thinking of how cool Goldbarth is
living in Wichita.
Alfred J Bruey - Jackson, MI (USA):
This book used to be on Broadway. It's also been on Fifth
Avenue, Second Avenue, Madison Avenue, 57th Street, and many other places where
its clumsy readers have dropped it.
This book never speaks to strangers.
This book always speaks to strangers. It says strangers are just friends
you don't know yet.
This book will work for food but it's not very hungry now
so it won't work very hard.
This book loves to talk on the phone. You'll end up with
a very large phone bill if you have it checked out when
it's making its monthly calls to its friends in Europe and Asia.
Sarolina Shen Chang - Canton, Michigan (USA):
This is the book about the trees which swore to revenge the
chopsticks makers, the paper mills, as well as the tree doctor who
didn't know how to trim a tree.
This is the book about the window that got sunburned because of
the new shorn tree.
This is the book about the birds that had lost their nests
because of the novice tree doctor.
This is the book about the worms tunneling the latest scandals through
the roots of the new shorn tree.
This is the book about the critter control company that moonshone tree
Katherine Borghardt - Ottawa, KS (USA):
The quality of the cover of this book,
the color of the images within,
the postural assumption of its backbone
all in direct proportion to the depth of our contributory lives,
at once, shallow and tepid / deep and mesmerizing
trickling, dripping and lapping effects of the universe,
the sum of whose parts is in - verse - ly proportional
to the Goldbarthian manifesto.
Peg Duthie - Nashville, TN (USA):
This book is demanding to know its raison d'ecrire - lacking an
answer, it's getting quite unglued, and shedding desolate pages all over the
bust of Edgar Allan Poe.
This book holds three raven's feathers, a two-dollar bill and an origami
This book asserts that coffee should never be microwaved, but each morning
I zap yesterday's dregs anyway.
This book - a photocopied dissertation - will make you wonder why
people don't perfect poems when they don't even have to wait for
the white-out to dry.
This book is about the shortcuts not taken.
This Book Daddy - Libraries, All (USA):
This book fell into the masses of hate and macheted a path
This book hammered a child for a pair of new sneakers.
This book took ten fat poets and squished them into half a
half a sandwich.
This book cradled big silver spy plane, intelligence destroyed, over international waters.
This book saved the world for This Book Daddy, his hunger on
Karen L. Simonetti - Chicago, IL (USA):
This book, to each book its reader, is for you.
I have read your words and fallen in love, to each reader
Do you even know it is you that I am writing to?
To each reader its author.
I shall ponder the ways to tell you that I love you.
However, is it you? Or your words?
In the end, it does not matter: I mind fuck. To
each author its reader.
Whitney - Kansas City, KS (USA):
This book made me glad I'm not fat
This book made me realize I am lucky
I thought this book was dumb and boring
I was forced to read this book
This book was too detailed and gross
Kevin W. Grossman - Santa Cruz, CA (USA):
She keeps this book of funky sway (or whatever the hell it’s
called) on the nightstand shelf on her side of the bed.
This book redesigns our home (but I really think it consumes it
for it’s own rejuvenation and self-actualization).
This book is full of meandering chi, inviting entrances, clearing clutter, open
space, bright colors, red ribbons, well lit rooms, spring bouquets, fun-filled smiling
photos, fresh extended space, long hot herbal baths, positive affirmations, essential oils,
dragons, phoenixes, heaven luck, human luck, earth luck, Chung Kwei portraits, healing
gems, love crystals, and so on, and so forth, etc.
My space (my office, my odor, my cave, my cocoon, my room,
my realm, or whatever the hell you want to call it) is
this book’s nemesis. My space is closed off clutter full of
eclectic things, books and boxes of broken words. I lie to
myself facing the computer and the sliding glass door to the south
and dream of red giants and firestorms.
This book of funky sway is scared of me because my space
is black hole chi. However, my space consumes the bleakest void
and in turn expels light. Go figure. (I don’t know
what the hell I’m talking about anyway. Sweetie, please close the
Denise Dunn - ABQ, NM (USA):
That book wearing a red sweater and mittens in the August heat
is one you might want to check out.
Children's voices heard singing through an open window begin this book.
Every morning it adds another page - some hoots in unison, little
feet stamping on the warm tile floor, a question answered, clapping and
laughter. This page ends with a fruit cup for each, shared
with parents waiting in the courtyard.