by John Severino
The paper hanging
On the chord on my blinds
Holds warnings and instructions
-It is not to be removed.
The blinds hang inconsistently
Allowing light to filter in
In uncongenial patterns.
Apparently, without this paper, children
Might strangle themselves.
As much as I love children
This paper aggravates me. So do the blinds.
In my residence I have no children
And my dog is rather short.
So I close my eyes and imagine a
Room clear of blinds, perhaps with curtains.
In doing this the universe befouls the paper
And regulates the day.
The power of thought is a wondrous ambassador,
Clinging to paper and rendering it invisible.

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