Papercut

I've been looking
for a break
not bone breaks,
heartache or
for Spring's sake,
but a clean shake from
these monetary burdens
a sense of balance
in an economic
landscape
where cutbacks and
restraints mean noone's
fully safe

Not sandpaper scrubs,
not filter paper,
litmus shows blue as the
answer's basic
our endless chase for
paper funds
results in marathon
but it doesn't always last that long
paper cup stability,
if filled too long- the bottom
falls off
when sogged by water
resulting in a river's worth of
liquid rampage

This papercut comes
without warning, and can
sting
deep- when paper's
cut fresh from the
U.S. Government Mint
we lust for its flesh
so badly, we'd give our own
vein-run blood

Even worse,
are cuts on open palms-
they never heal,
and inner-scars
spackle walls, throughout
buildings- paper cuts
reopening, even still

The newspapers run headlines
on what happened
to a recovering addict, and why
he took so long
from the winner's podium
he once stood on
but now fallen, because
his habit was the only
thing this scratcher
ever spent his
paper on

It's a pay-per-view
show, as this
paper airplane tragically
goes down in flames
sprials into the
Papal blessed paydirt
of a paper-lined
grave

The painter's brush
tells a tale of the fuschia-stroke
canvas
stained not on the paper's page
it's not the artist,
but the writer who puts action
in the heart of the actor,
foreshadowing beautiful performances
in witty lines
to reparte, with words
spilling from lips
as they take to the stage

A papercut plague
I can't recall the proper place
or time of day

The paper guts of
a plastic mannequin,
complete with a face made from
paper mache
molding what was once a palatial
Roman Kingdom rivaling;
fair, but violent
environment which is
no longer
Gladiator-based
through pride and triumph

A lust for the funds, have made
many men slave to a
paper-trail, Totalitarian
Dictatorship
led by Paper Tigers-
all flex, no bite
but when ignited, they'll sweep
through- a wildfire, and when you've
extinguished purpose,
you paupers are discarded
like a
paper plate

Income will define status,
& those with it
will reign supreme in this
Day & Age
all the beauty's been cut
from out this frame,
& it is sad to say
that once-
where love, passion
or expression would fulfill
the hunger which
ravages that vacant space
paper
has cut us all,
and the artificial will
take its place




(c) Paul LaTorre 2010