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Capital Moments Featured Reader. Washes of Hues
Washes of hues confuse
the binge of sound.
Noises in the head scrape
against the colors
in the brain.
The din maddening;
Deafening the need
to think.
Quiet little intrusive thoughts
Quiet little aches of loss
Rise in undulation in her mind
Dancing taunting until
She couldn't take it anymore.
Constant affection, disaffection
In truth,
Blurred the hues
that scraped the mind
That binged the brain
in metronomes of sound
all around.
All resound
To drive her crazy.
He did that.
He made her crazy.
He made her crazy,
So that one night she just flew.
It wasn’t a long flight,
Just a gesture to the wind
As she was gone.
Metronome of the maestro
pounding in her brain,
Not-right-your-not-right.
(Take-flight-take-flight.)
The hues can’t erase
Swirling shadow-tones
of pigment
She sees inside her eyes.
The pattern on his jacket,
Buried bruise-stained face,
Sepia yellows, grayed blues,
begging for a palette,
knife.
Sleep eludes scrapes
the brain
washes tints
to form
the gone-ness of time
On the tempered paper
Of her mind.
I look at your hand,
Lying , resting, quiet on the table,
Resting, lying quiet on the wood,
And I want to crawl
Between your fingers.
I want to climb
Into that spot that marries up to
Mine, when we hold hands,
Loosely when we stroll,
So they move like reeds on the beach
Responding to a wind or turn of the path.
Or, snug with that tight wrap around clasp,
Where I anchor my small around your
Strong index,
Wrist to wrist to feel your heart beat.
Or, warm and passive in the
Movie light flicker, fragrant from popcorn
And love making.
I look at your hand,
And lay mine there, resting, quiet
On the table,
Resting, lying quiet
On the wood.
