Mechanical Feed

The clock above the water cooler ticks.

The silence here is something old and thick.

Then from the corner comes a sudden beat,

a pulse of gears beneath the steady heat.

The printer thumps a rhythmic, hollow sound,

like heavy boots upon the frozen ground.

It shudders through its cycle, dark and deep,

while all the tired city is asleep.

A single sheet of paper hits the bin.

I feel the warmth of where the light has been.

It’s blank and bright, a smooth and steady glare,

holding the weight of nothing in the air.