A Little Bit Of Colour


The sky is blue astonishment, a seamless packed blue,
blue hordes arriving billion-fold from all directions
with bursting cases. We’re overrun with blue.
Ceramic and china blue, Pollock and that blue about poles,
blue the flash of fuses, not confused with the oh so
spiritual blue of auras. There is blue rinse blue,
the sky is an inverted cup (a late addition to china blue)
and the underbelly of Plato’s perfect blue.
Erotic films oh so forbidden blue, the blue of bruises
on a white thigh, speckled bird-egg blue.
Blue floods a peacock’s neck, blue finches, blue tits,
blue veins in breasts and cheeses, blue lips
from the cold, the frightening face of asphyxia blue,
blue after snake-bite, this scary Australian blue.
There is blue blood, heart-pain, left-behind-a-homeland blues
and the Aryan eyes that stared upon the not so blue,
until the smoke. Balinese silk, batik blue.
The no home at all down and out methylated blue.
There is blue speech from blown gaskets and exhaust pipes
the mechanic’s bill blues and then the language.
There is the edge of the cat’s milk blue,
the blue rings around the moon, the night sky’s
black-blue blue. The baboon’s bright buttocks (that’s a blue).
Day the diurnal constant in the sky.
And a colour no one is. Blue.

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