poem

recipe for a blind person


red is purple, like the stars
all colors come from the same death
or life, i sink greedily into them all.

all over today was a lank version of me
crawling away from the sky
and i held in it, some strange color
some blending of force that sent me
blurring back to bed.

and then there was green, a green day
vanished into blue truth, and a yellow
sunrise that fell into hurt, and white
distance and black lies.

if you were blind, would you know
would you imagine color?
would you know the sound of
each smell of each singular
touch of such a blank resistance
against death? would you be able to
reason with time, that life existed
separated into particles like this
foremost and evolutionary
and lacking in the most spectacular nothing?

it is the surrender into nothing, color
which is never stationary
which does not surround us but
bleeds uniquely like a doll
whose pain is not real
but who we want and imagine
to be our whole and real selves.