october ninth time

I would like to create an edible book because I feel as though nothing could be as satisfying as seeing people become enamored with art to the point of physically devouring it. The words would literally grow with this group--they would act as a catalyst for my audience to become taller, or fatter, or more wrinkly. These people would be forced by their bodies to use my words as energy, and when each reader would die, my words would seep back into the ground.

BUT, the words would then(!) be rich with experience and new minerals and things from the bodies of the people who ate them, and eventually the words would make it back to me because I would also be in the ground, and I would never be lonely again because there would always be this slew of migrant poems and phrases and stories approaching home.