This book saved my life.
This book takes place on one of the two small tagalong moons of Mars.
This book requests
its author's absolution, centuries after his death.
This book required two of the sultan's largest royal elephants to bear
this other book fit in a gourd.
This book reveals The Secret Name of God, and so its author
is on a death
This is the book I lifted high over my head, intending to smash a roach
my girlfriend's bedroom; instead, my back unsprung, and I toppled
into her bed, where I stayed motionless for eight days.
This is a "book." That is, an audio cassette. This other "book"
is a screen
and a microchip. This other "book," the sky.
In chapter three of this book, a woman
tries explaining her husband's
tragically humiliating death to their daughter: reading it is like
through a wall of setting cement.
This book taught me everything about sex.
book is plagiarized.
This book is transparent; this book is a codex in Aztec; this book, written
a prisoner, in dung; the wind is turning the leaves of this book: a
hill-top olive as thick as
a Russian novel.
This book is a vivisected frog, and ova its text.
This book was dictated by Al-Méllikah, the Planetary
Spirit of the Seventh
Realm, to his intermediary on Earth (the Nineteenth Realm), who
it, first in mimeograph, and many editions later in gold-
This book taught
me everything wrong about sex.
This book poured its colors into my childhood so strongly, they remain a
in my imagination today.
This book is by a poet who makes me sick.
This is the first book in the world.
This is a
photograph from Viet Nam, titled "Buddhist nuns copying
scholarly Buddhist texts in the pagoda."
book smells like salami.
This book is continued in volume two.
He was driving — evidently by some elusive, interior
radar, since he was
busy reading a book propped on the steering wheel.
This book picks on men.
is the split Red Sea: two heavy pages.
In this book I underlined deimos, cabochon, pelagic, hegira. I wanted
This book poured its bile into my childhood.
This book defames women.
book was smuggled into the country one page at a time, in tiny pill
containers, in hatbands, in
the cracks of asses; sixty people risked their
lives repeatedly over this one book.
This book cost more than a seven-story chalet in the Tall Oaks subdivision.
This book — I don't remember.
book is a hoax, and a damnable lie.
This chapbook was set in type and printed by hand, by Larry Levis's then-
the poet Marcia Southwick, in 1975. It's 1997 now and Larry's
dead — too early, way too early
— and this elliptical, heartbreaking poem
(which is, in part, exactly about too early
death) keeps speaking to me
from its teal-green cover: the way they say the nails and the hair
to grow in the grave.
This book is two wings and a thorax the size of a sunflower seed.
This book gave me a hard-on.
book is somewhere under those other books way over there.
This book deflected a bullet.
This book provided a vow I took.
they knew you owned this book, they'd come and get you; it wouldn't
This book is
a mask: its author isn't anything like it.
This book is by William Matthews, a wonderful poet, who died today, age
Now Larry Levis has someone he can talk to.
This book is an "airplane book" (but not about airplanes; mean to
be read on
an airplane; also, available every three steps in the airport). What does it
to "bust" a "block"?
This is the book I pretended to read one day in the Perry-Castañeda Library
room, but really I was rapt in covert appreciation of someone
in a slinky skirt that clung like
kitchen plasticwrap. She squiggled near,
and pointed to the book. "It's upside-down," she said.
the rest of the afternoon I was so flustered, that when I finally left the
library... this is the
book, with its strip of magnetic-code tape, that I
absentmindedly walked with through the security
arch on the first day of
its installation, becoming the first (though unintentional) lightfingered
of books to trigger the Perry-Castañeda alarm, which hadn't been
fine-tuned as yet, and sounded
even louder than the sirens I remember
from grade school air raid drills, when the principal had
us duck beneath
our desks and cover our heads — as if gabled — with a book.
chemical formulae for photosynthesis: this book taught me that.
And this book taught me what a "merkin" is.
of this book is fashioned from the tanned skin of a favorite slave.
This book is inside a computer now.
is made of knotted string; and this, of stone; and this, the gut
of a sheep.
This book existed
in a dream of mine, and only there.
This book is a talk-show paperback with shiny gold raised lettering on the
(Needless to say, not one by me.)
This is a book of prohibitions; this other, a book of rowdy license. They
equally to focus the prevalent chaos of our lives.
This book is guarded around the clock by men in navy serge and golden
carrying very capable guns.
This is the book that destroyed a marriage. Take it, burn it, before it costs
This book is an intercom for God.
This book I slammed against a wall.
My niece wrote this book in crayon and
This is the book (in a later paperback version) by which they recognized
battered, and otherwise-unidentifiable body of Shelley.
Shit: I forgot to send in the card, and now the Book Club has billed
twice for Synopses of 400 Little-Known Operas.
This book is filled with sheep
and rabbits, calmly promenading in their
tartan vests and bowties, with their clay pipes, in their
salad-like hats. The hills are gently rounded. The sun is a clear firm
The world will never be this sweetly welcoming again.
This book is studded with gems that have the liquid depth of aperitifs.
book, 1,000 Wild Nights, is actually wired to give an electr/ YOWCH!
This book I stole from Cornell University's
Olin Library in the spring of
1976. Presumably, its meter's still running. Presumably, it still
its Dewey'd place in the dim-lit stacks.
This book has a bookplate reminding me, in
Latin, to use my scant time well.
It's the last day of the semester. My students are waiting to sell their
back to the campus store, like crazed racehorses barely
restrained at the starting gate.
book caused a howl / a stir / a ruckus / an uproar.
This book became a movie; they quickly raised the cover price.
book is the Key to the Mysteries.
This book has a bookplate: a man and a woman have pretzeled themselves
into one lubricious shape.
This book came apart in my hands.
This book is austere; it's like
holding a block of dry ice.
This Bible is in Swahili.
This book contains seemingly endless pages of calculus —
it may as well be
This is the book I pretended to read while Ellen's lushly naked
darkened into sleep beside me. And this is the book I pretended to read
a waiting room, once, as a cardiac specialist razored into my father's
chest. And THIS book I pretended
having read once, when I
interviewed for a teaching position: "Oh yes," I said, "of course," and
a stream of my justly famous golden bullshit into the conference
This book was signed
by the author fifteen minutes before she died.
This is Erhard Ratdolf's edition of Johann Regiomontanus's astronomical
astrological calendar (1476) — it contains "the first true title-page."
She snatched this book from a garbage can,
just as Time was about to
swallow it out of the visible world irrevocably. To this day, her
This book: braille. This one: handmade paper, with threads of the poet's
as part of the book's rag content. This one: the cover is
hollowed glass, with a goldfish swimming
around the title.
This is my MFA thesis. Its title is Goldbarth's MFA Thesis.
This is the cookbook used by Madame
Curie. It still faintly glows, seven
This book is the shame of an entire nation.
book is one of fourteen matching volumes, like a dress parade.
This is the book I'm writing now. It's my best! (But where
should I send
This book doesn't do anyth / oh wow, check THIS out!
This is the book
I bought for my nephew, 101 Small Physics Experiments.
Later he exchanged it for The
Book of Twerps and Other Pukey Things, and
who could blame him?
This book is completely
marred by the handiwork of the Druckfehlerteufel —
"the imp who supplies the misprints."
book has a kind of aurora-like glory radiating from it. There should be
versions of uranium detectors
that register glory-units from books.
We argued over this book in the days of the divorce. I kept it, she kept the
glass window from Mike and Mimi.
Yes, he was supposed to be on the 7:05 to Amsterdam. But he stayed at
to finish this whodunit. And so he didn't crash.
This book has a browned corsage pressed in it. I picked up both for a
at the Goodwill.
"A diet of berries, vinegar, and goat's milk" will eventually not only
your cancer, but will allow a man to become impregnated (diagrams
this) — also, there's serious philosophy about Jews who control
"the World Order," in this
This book reads from right to left. This book comes with a small wooden
top attached by
a saffron ribbon. This book makes the sound of a lion, a
train, or a cuckoo clock, depending on
where you press its cover.
I've always admired this title from 1481: The Myrrour of the Worlde.
This book is
from the 1950s; the jacket says it's "a doozie."
This book is by me. I found it squealing piteously, poor piglet, in the
of a remainders bin. I took it home and nursed it.
This book let me adventure with the
I threw myself, an aspirant, against the difficult theories this book
until my spirit was bruised. I wasn't any smarter — just
This book is magic.
There's more inside it than outside.
This is the copy of the Iliad that Alexander the Great took with him,
on his expeditions — "in," Thoreau says, "a precious casket."
Help! (thump) I've been stuck in this book all
week and I don't know how
to get out! (thump)
This is the book of poetry I read from
at my wedding to Morgan. We were
divorced. The book (Fred Chappell's River) is still on
my shelf, like an
This book is stapled (they're rusted by now); this book, bound
leather; this book's pages are chemically-treated leaves; this book, the
of a peanut, is still complete with indicia and an illustrated colophon
So tell me: out
of what grim institution for the taste-deprived and the
sensibility-challenged do they find the
cover artists for these books?
This book I tried to carry balanced on my head with seven others.
This book I actually
This book — remember? I carved a large hole in its pages, a "how-to
boys" said this would be a foolproof place to hide my
secret treasures. Then I remembered I didn't
have any secret treasures
worth hiding. Plus, I was down one book.
This book is nothing
but jackal crap; unfortunately, its royalties have paid
for two Rolls-Royces and a mansion in the
south of France.
This book is said to have floated off the altar of the church, across the
square, and into the hut of a peasant woman in painful labor.
This is what he was reading when he died. The jacket copy
says it's "a real
page-turner — you can't put it down!" I'm going to assume he's in
world now, completing the story.
This book hangs by a string in an outhouse, and every day it gets thinner.
teaches you how to knit a carrying case for your rosary; this one,
how to build a small but lethal
This book has pop-up pages with moveable parts, intended to look like the
room where pop-up books with moveable parts are made.
If you don't return that book I loaned you, I'm going to smash your
This book says the famously saintly woman was really a ringtailed trash-
bitch queen. Everyone's reading it!
There are stains in this book that carry a narrative greater than its text.
Case of _______. How to _______. Books books books.
I know great petulant stormy swatches and peaceful lulls
of this book by
I was so excited, so jazzed up! — but shortly thereafter they found
asleep, over pages six and seven of this soporific book. (I won't say by
on her way back to her seat, she fell (the multiple sclerosis) and
refused all offered assistance.
Instead, she used her book she'd been
reading from, as a prop, and worked herself pridefully back
up to a
They gave me this book for free at the airport. Its cover features
god with the massive head of an elephant, as brightly blue as a druid,
flowers into the air and looking unsurpassably wise.
My parents found this book in my bottom drawer, and spanked the living
into my butt.
This book of yours, you tell me, was optioned by Hollywood for eighty-
dollars? Oh. Congratulations.
They lowered the esteemed and highly-published professor into his grave.
lot of silent weeping. A lot of elegiac rhetoric. And one man shaking
his head in the chill December
wind dumbfoundedly, who said, "And he
Although my 8th grade English teacher,
Mrs. Hurd, always said "Whenever
you open a book, remember: that author lives again."
this book, there was no turning back.
Around 1000 A.D., when the Magyars were being converted over to
Magyar children were forced to attend school for the first
time in their cultural history: "therefore
the Magyar word konyv means
tears as well as book."
This book, from when I was five,
its fuzzy ducklings, and my mother's
voice in the living room of the second-story apartment over
shop on Division Street.... I'm fifty now. I've sought out, and I own
one near-mint and two loose, yellowing copies that mean to me as
much as the decorated gold masks
and the torsos of marble meant to the
excavators of Troy.
This book is done.
This book gave
me a paper cut.
This book set its mouth on my heart, and sucked a mottled tangle of blood
I open this book and smoke pours out, I open this book and a bad sleet
face, I open this book: brass knuckles, I open this book: the
spiky scent of curry, I open this
book and hands grab forcefully onto my
hair as if in violent sex, I open this book: the wingbeat
of a seraph, I
open this book: the edgy cat-pain wailing of the damned thrusts up in a
as sturdy around as a giant redwood, I open this book: the travel
of light, I open this book and
it's as damp as a wound, I open this book
and I fall inside it farther than any physics, stickier
than the jelly we
scrape from cracked bones, cleaner than what we tell our children in the
when they're afraid to close their eyes at night.
And this book can't be written yet: its author isn't born yet.
book is going to save the world.