Bleeding Bundles Grey

The grey bundles of

Flimsy yellowing bundles of paper,

That when push came to shove

Seemed all too thickly packed

That even the worst and most rough

Of times would see their shades of grey,

Now, they have met their last

Pitiful patronage, taken a final dying gasp.


What’s Black and White

And Read all over…

Well, not anymore.

Only in my darkly humorous sense, for

I sense that now they’re all gone from sight

And bleeding from huge

Colorful, authoritative wounds

That we ourselves gouged

Out of all our eyes, ears, throats.

But who owns our minds now?


Amidst the profound, lonely sadness,

A last question clambers

From my mind’s resigned depths

Who will write their eulogy?


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