"better off bad"

I didn't like your book very much I confess
I tried to like it but day by day I felt the press
of angry boredom on my neck and spleen
as slowly but impatiently I combed the lines for something in between

I didn't like your book I hope that we can still be friends
I hope there is a better life for us after this book ends
That we can put aside our differences regarding what is publishable
And go on having brunch within our semi-coastal bububble

I didn't like your book though there are worse books I have loved
I felt that every incident was far too thickly gloved
In metaphors and flashbacks and such literary things
All burdened like a hand unfit to type with all its rings

Will anyone I wonder ever put my life into a book
And will it be a quick read or a brick barely worth a look
Will there be a photograph in the back of me in overalls holding a baby ewe
Or something else equally easy for an author to misconstrue

We have only ourselves and the future and the latter receding fast
Is it worth it to try to build something in the way of a book that will last
I didn't like your book but is that really what I feel?
Perhaps the thing I didn't like is my own distance from the real

I didn't like your book, I tried, I tried
Salman Rushdie told me that he read it twice and cried
I read it point six two five times and quickly skimmed the rest
While Stephen King had its last lines tattooed upon his breast

I didn't find your book either hilarious or searing
Its so-called music made me think I must be hard of hearing
Its characters escaped me like a slinky feral cat
I didn't like your book, but whose fault is that?