Sonnet on a Napkin with a Floral Design

Embossed with flowers, from a factory,

Comes this white, mass-produced piece of tissue.

Its original is past memory,

Unknown the drawing hand of its issue.

[Make transition to “original” smoother]

And yet, one might venture a conjecture

By the copy yet dully pressed thereon.

For it seems, itself, a pattern of nature:

Maternal, toward breathing life ever drawn.

It is, then, with irony, a product

Of nature, a static reproduction,

Of an image whose issue may conduct

To reverie or to further consumption

And as this artifice evokes a memory,

We want life, we use a commodity.


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