Paws & Pens: The Nature of Irony

I peel at the bark of the thick trunk,
As opaque pale sap dribbles down the height.
The fiber inside this precious tree
Will weave a page of blank, spotless white.

I dunk the fiber into a vat,
Then another, then another.
I bleach and bleach the fiber til
The only one color reflects any other.

I roll it out, so it’s flat flat flat,
Light and delicate as a whisper.
Pure nothingness on the front and back,
The product is finally here.

I package it in a plastic sleeve,
And send it off for overseas.
They’ll sell it to the little kids,
Who will use the paper to draw trees.

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