once upon a time, in the grand excavation
of tome,
you could actually,
put something of(f) yourself on
a shelf,
   and be allowed the dignity
of: commentary
     in the posthumous realm of:
                          the discovery of ideas;
can someone even
comprehend being stuffed...
   by the current taxidermy
                    of the comment sections?
came the comment sections,
     taxidermy & claustrophobia...
please: no attention ******* here...
the most addictive aspect of
listening to a radio station?
  you can't rewind, repeat...
all and any song...
           some say:
      there are all the positives of
the audience being able
to interact
           with the byproduct
of the person...
                   but it byproduct
rarely enjoys a per se status...
given that the person behind
the byproduct is always invoked...
like a demon with a bad
                 elocution of a spell...
books do not understand
likes, dislikes...
    comment sections:
   recommendations?
                                            sure...
this whole, modern taxidermy
        of the comment sections...
you'd start thinking that
alcoholics anonymous was bad...
wait until anonymity anonymous
                             comes about...
i just find it horrid,
that any book i own,
could also have a comments
section attached to it,
without, say,
         a mediator,
akin to an english teacher,
the agora of a high school classroom...
and...
   nothing of the sort
of cluster-**** of
                     random commentary...
with nothing the sort
of a signity of: handwritting,
a postage stamp,
an envelope...
            not even a d.m.,
   but... a morbid caucus
                     of... nothing short of
raucous boat trip
                    over the Styx...
where, eventually...
    half the people wouldn't
even make it to Hades,
instead: drowning in that thick
splotch of the mongrel-souls
cast into the waters of Styx:
                                          purgatory.