10 April

Day 10

An animate object speaks

The front page

I am new each day and each day thrown away;

my paper self my tabloid heart. I  am in columns, 

tabulated, narrow, I am not level,  gone terribly slanted

I am all air and paper, but heavy in my bias

In headlines I shout nonsense-

please understand, in my black, wet heart

I don't mean any of this shit, am just a medium,

regret myself before my ink is dry

I want to tell you the truth, to spell out the names 

but they form me into eulogies for some, vague , 

useless leader. They make me breathe distraction

when I want to bleed for you, the information