Cellulose (by Polly Papyrus) Tenderly you grasp me by my edge, No margins yet defined, my fibrous pledge: “To hold your heart and soul, It’s all so notable, A brilliant tool of love, a pitching wedge.” “Isotropic, intertwined, air-laid are we,” Said carefully, “produced from that-there tree.” Our fat to thin design, Kroyer’s assembly line, Hammermill, or better, hammer me! Our parables and understated rhymes, Our hopes and fears and censored joy-filled times, No laughter written down, Evoked without a sound, So scribe upon my nakedness ten times. Eight point five, eleven, legal quickie, A-four us ream by ream, perhaps a sticky, My glycerin is sweet, Tasty recycled treat, Caliper, opacity, not dicky. Industrial, yet edible, Ethnically amenable, A tearful pulp my sheets get ever stained, Your tube of ink and tip, No tortion-ed wire clip, Just fill and flow ’til fully entertained. Yes! Grainy roll-play tales, fictional raper, Bond, though moist, and permeable to vapor; Outside your whited space, Inside my fall from grace, Impregnated by nothing more than paper. SGA 19 JUL 2013
Posted on: Fri, 19 Jul 2013 08:34:09 +0000