A Single Staple

Alone it shines and lies
Bent in to three thin glares
Glossy it sings blue verse
Lonely it looks up there
Naught without machine press
Power puncturing the soft
Pliable parts with a pat
Rigidly folded into porous
Bound papered pile
Pressed into a delicious stack
Lying so still next to the
Abandoned forlorn and
Futile staple