On the next page the ink turns green
Fresh shoots, new hope, all that palaver
You examine the manuscript under a loop of magnified manifold
You process pleasure in Powerpoint bullets
Tarnish templates with monotype ghosting
It’s all done with robots now but you like to muck in
No parchment too precious for fingers to wander
You meter their words, box in statements of intent.
There is such a thing as perfect length or outstaying welcomes
There is no such thing as the perfect applicant.