Mash Note

I am a piece of creased paper forced to encounter

its own edges. I fold back toward odd configurations.

Crumpled face wrecked by wrinkles and faults.

I cannot be made smooth again, cannot be used.

Those straight blue guides and ruled lines blur.

I am crooked, because you have misshapen me

into a ball to be tossed away, but missed your mark.

Was I lighter than you remembered, or ever knew?

I will not go so easily into the bin. Come, stoop

over, pick this mess up and put me away properly.

Your fingers, one last time, in the rough paper cut

valleys you yourself crashed together like a god

who wrote a secret inside before destroying me

in ink I cannot see, in a hand I myself cannot read.

Reviews

[roarke]

yeah man, quantum subatomic poetry and emotive primitive geometry... enjoyed. Snapped some bubble wrap in my cranium.

[W.k.kortas]

A wonderful extended metaphor, taking a notion that is certainly familiar to all of us and expressing it in a sophisticated yet wholly accessible manner. Fine, fine work.

[Kyline Freed]

I love this poem!! It sounds like its putting us in the paper's point of view!!