To Be Read

My book has been in your

TBR pile for an awfully

long time. I notice it’s getting

bumped within the queue,

that tome from Poet X

still toasty to the touch,

the one you boast

is a 21st-century Shakespeare.

I get it. You said you’ll

do a blurb. Posting it up on

AssFace when you’re done.

But Gray’s

Anatomy—really?

Just look at yourself in the

mirror if you’re unsure

where everything is.

Robert’s Rules of Order

would be commendable—

if you actually showed

up for meetings. I’ve never

even seen you in a chair

let alone as. La-Z-Boy &

Cheetos doesn’t count.

I’ve tired of your excuses,

why my incredible magnum

opus is draped in mites,

wisps and strands of

webbing spun when dodos

walked the earth;

languishing under your

lamp with the scrolls

of Agamemnon, the Guide to

Cooking Manna, or the Jokes

of Gutenberg,

something that he conjured as

a test run, before laying out the

letters for the Bible while he

sweat, the immortality

of errata, the pressure of a perfect

Word, something that you

swear you’ll get around

to one of these days.

Andreas Gripp

January 15, 2026

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