DISCARDED: Reflections on Literary Oblivion

	i'm on an empty shelf
	between volumes 782.503 and 783.3
	
	dust gathers around my cover
	& mites nibble my binding

	occasionally unknown hands
	pull my jacket, scan mw
	then promptly shove me back –
	in a world with so many volumes
	i'm inconsequential:
	a cadaver of cellulose
	in an intellectual morgue
	where millions rest in oblivion
	mostly ignored

	soon enough
	a librarian will examine me
	and decide other works
	are more worthy
	of the space

	then
	in a disposal furnace
	i'll experience
	the fire of wisdom
	and once again
	know the bliss 
	of being erased


Ella:    Libraries remind me of intellectual morgues. The sheer volume of books is overwhelming.

Shu:     Yeah. It can seem like an overpowering reminder of our own insignificance.

Jack:    This poem is cloaked in self-denial. This happens when we identify too much 
         with any external accomplishment. 

Shu:     (Smiling faintly) Ahh....

Juanita: Each book is like a grain of sand. Yet that tiny grain of sand can seem like cosmos.

Shu:     (shrugging his shoulders) Anyway, there is enough sand inside my head already. 
         Let's move on....

=====================================================================================
from Lit-A-Rupture: A Post Literary Construction by T Newfields
SUMMARY: A poem about minor literature, obscurity, and the indifference of time and dialog about how it all fits. 
KEYWORDS: literary hubris, obscurity, textual obsolesce, data purging

by T Newfields [Nitta Hirou / Huáng Yuèwǔ] (b. 1955)
Begun: 1994 in Shizuoka, Japan ⨳ Finished: 2019 in Yokohama, Japan
Creative Commons License: Attribution. {{CC-BY-4.0}} Granted

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