Blue

Location

 

White clouds the sky with her 

 

lucid virulent plumes

 

it is morning and we

 

rise, stand, bloom

 

a mass of torn shirts and sweaty legs

 

gleaming like the teeth of orange

 

who breaks into blaring streaks at dawn 

 

then wanders, drooling red, mumbling at the wind

 

 

and to think I have ever seen grace

 

on a sunny day in Reno

 

 

I watch through the window for awhile

 

thinking white must be the devil’s color

 

 

I watch for awhile because If I were god I wouldn’t do it this way I wouldn’t

 

hide all my toys behind blurred airy sheets or leave myself 

 

all-powerful yet still searching for clarity 

 

in white eyes white limbs white tongues

 

white

 

clouds, no I 

 

would paint them blue 

 

so I could see the truth, or at least fool myself into believing

 

that humans don’t exist

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