Here’s another poem from my book Vexed Questions:
The Inner Life of the Paper Clip
I’m meditating on the paper clip.
A labyrinth with three curved surfaces
coiled in upon each other. Silver shines
when really it’s the cheapest pliable
steel. What does it long to clasp?
My students’ work, wet from the rain and ruffled
like crinoline, or office presentations by some high
and mighty corporation? Do my poems attract it?
in the aisle, way in the back, accompanied by some dust,
some crumbling paper, yellowed with brown ink
are grasped by clip that’s generations old,
which when removed, leaves dents and stains of rust,
the wounds of its detachment from my words.