New Color Project

My obsession with color is a fundamental part of me. I used to operate a blog where I would post a square of color with a poetic name typed on it.

I think now I will do something a little different. I have been downloading free textures online, and tinting them with rich, solid color. Instead of typing a short name on each one, I will write fragments of poems (or full length poems) for each one. Each color with its corresponding poem will be given a post.

At this point I am just really enjoying tinting all these different textures. I do not know how long I will carry on with this project. Regardless of whether it lasts for one week or one year, I think that it will add to my creativity. It will also give me more pleasure in my life. Color stitches my being together.

From the Morning

In the creamy morning light,

fat snow lounges on the mountaintop.

My new day has no confidence.

My shoes wait by the door,

made of bone china

And stained with my used blood.

Secondhand fire bounces

off the receding moon.

Numbers await me,

my house and my mind

Filled with them.

Math cuts me.

The subtraction demanded

of me is too much.

I shove my feet in my shoes.

Outside the morning is frosting

on my world.

I have nothing but

the robbery of my body.

The End

The knife peels away

my life like skin from an apple.

My mouth was never

designed to grow old.

In the impossible hour,

my matter exposed to the end.

Pointless Difference

After metamorphosis –

thought,

projected project,

my tongue at the door.

After the renewal of my skin,

Vows of ivory.

All thoughtful ideas are

material things.

Lines construct wishes

That let you down face to face.

From One to Another

Small as a pond,

You are bordered by mossy velvet.

You act like me.

Rivers do not

associate with women.

First I was a fish.

Then I was provided with womanhood.

The oars on the canoe

Love one another in Morse code.

I’ll walk under the hollow water.

My understanding of

beauty and all that you can do

flourishes like kelp,

always below the surface.

The Ruby

I build a home against the

sure bet of his chest.

He goes down in me

in search of the ruby.

I am a statement of

conjecture and figure.

It’s a romantic romance,

wearing every red color except red.

At the Edge of the Wilderness

Abuse me.

There is more of me to leave.

Like cinders in the forest.

I cleave to my fundamental heat.

Delete me inside.

Too much of me

and you’ll need water to hold.

His Music

He is a place

Of marble and speed.

He writes me notes

That I hear.

His story is one of unearthing,

of a sun making casualties of snow.

Over the arc,

absolute shape –

my calves,

finish lines.

His novel.

You will find me alone

next month,

calling music my own.

Design

Women’s illegal tender-

tenderness toward even the kudzu.

If he cancels the length and breadth

of my body tonight,

I will float above him like air from the fan.

Recreation fills me

with finger and tongue.

I am designed for it.

Human

Humanity is crouched

beneath the table

where my glass leaves

a ring.

Dust is wedded to success.

In the humanness that

roams the rooms –

a forgettable act of kindness

in skivvies.

My inner warden

patrols beneath my skin.

Lowly instinct,

leave your hiding!

Your enemies have finished counting,

And have hung your better

Natures from the doorframe

with a steel cable.

I remember the elevator it

Came from,

Dipping the car

Up and down from the bottom

Of the hospital to the top

Like ladle to bowl.

Lemons in the kitchen

are twisted.

The dishwasher is broken,

But the knives have been

Sharpened on teeth.

Out from under the furniture

Comes my neighbor’s

Selfishness and my rage.

I finish my soda.

This should be good.

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