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?