Two identical stacks of books,
side by side on the cabinet top:
all the same titles, edition and nick.
Ordered identically start to stop.
One stack is straight, though uneven
in size: all of the angles are neat
as pins. The other's haphazardly
balanced and skewed. It sits
solidly, with a crazy grin.
One of these stacks has been read
straight through. Every page has
been turned and explored. The other
was printed and stacked and sold,
yet every letter remains unpoured.
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