Pulp
The paper wants to become a frog
so I fold it into a frog
and that’s it
Into a drawer
or a pocket
A thing finishes itself
I hurry it into ending is what this means
The toast yields to me and to heat
and when I rescue it from the toaster oven
I erase its visible body
No wonder we feel powerful
in our kitchens and systems
We are so surprised by the cold
and mildly surprised by the snow
Still we do not stand corrected
this paper turned itself into your poem, lucky paper. And I'll carry it around in my pocket today, or pass it on, as it keeps finishing itself. :)
ReplyDelete