Newsprint

just a crappy little poem


newspapers on the wall, ragged yellowing daily pulp
covers up the floor with green faces and interruptions
no privacy here to speak of but the anonymity of the printed crowd
in the washing of the machine to launder the individual dream
and the pull of the thread from the seam.
it laughs at the sock that's tossed from a height
hoping it will go way and leave tranquility in its absence
too much to ask perhaps, it's hard to function as the machine thumps
silence, silence and noise, is that too much to ask?
instead noise and silence, noise and silence, noise
noise
listen to the bag that carries to the bin the paper that's within

fin