You’re goddamn right..
I am an open book.
Just like The Ones
you maybe read
while curled up
cozy in your
little nook.

I am the metal hook
you chew on
when you bite
the author’s bait.
The One that keeps
you reading..
even if it makes you
lose your sleep
because you stayed
up far too late.

Except, of course,
unlike just any
dusty ol’ tome..
This book is living!
It is breathing
practically
on its own.

When you depart
and then return,
it wrote more
chapters of itself..
Now is that not
the strangest
of unholy magics
from The Devil’s
kitchen..
in the depths
of living hell?

The Devil May,
indeed, be its
head master chef..
but do not cry,
it’s not
a punishable sin
for you to read it
now and then.

Because
The Devil here
is merely
humble ol’ executor..
of categorical
imperatives
that sprouted
from the fertile soil..
of God Almighty’s
heart.

The Tree
upon which
you may find
this page
as but a single
crimson leaf..
that is the open book
of which, in truth,
we speak..
The One that’s
mercilessly teasing
our reality apart..

Its proper name,
however, is..
“The Living Art.”