The sun is cold and bright like paper.
The sky is a paper tent over a paper earth.
I have nothing to write with
so I tear holes to mark where I’ve been.
I can see through the earth to what’s
underneath. I don’t know how to describe it.
It fills my eyes with cuts. I look away

You find you’re in a paper world. The sun
is dry and bright and hard like paper. Clouds
of crumpled paper pace a paper sky
tented over a paper earth. You want
to make your mark, but have no pen, so you
tear holes. You can see through the earth to what’s
underneath it muldering. You don’t know
how to describe it. It fills your eyes with cuts.

Do you try to look away? Does it hold you
staring, transfixed, like a cup? or do you
swim still deeper in its waste, and if you do
is it of your own will? You can’t be sure.