Wood pulp,
Dried and bleached by sleep,
Laid and stacked,
White for writing,
Dropped from a height
To flutter,
To flap,
To clatter upon concrete,
Where a ruckus wind
Spooks them again
To flight—
Such are the thoughts
Of this broken daybreak.
Wood pulp,
Dried and bleached by sleep,
Laid and stacked,
White for writing,
Dropped from a height
To flutter,
To flap,
To clatter upon concrete,
Where a ruckus wind
Spooks them again
To flight—
Such are the thoughts
Of this broken daybreak.
