Wojo posted this in response to a poetry exercise, "What's above you right now?" I thought it was an especially good response to the exercise given his location. Nothing terribly poetic about an institutional ceiling, yet Wojo found poetry and imagery there anyway:
It's the popcorn that didn't pop
or the holes in styrofoam
It's the alphabet of the blind
rearranged a million times
It's the color of the paint
that no one ever buys.
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