There are two ways to imagine a world in orange only. First, imagine a world painted over. Second, imagine the world with every item of another color removed. I prefer the second way, though fewer fruits would exist and every writing instrument would be a pencil. Blue sky would yield to pure orange sun, and I would bask in that brilliant glow, if only I were orange.

Each coin in my pocket is an want unwished. Unanswered questions, unaffordable purchases, unmade phone calls. Without enough, silver stays inside pockets with the crumpled receipts and lint. Desire can be debilitating, most of all the desire to desire nothing.

If you try to imagine nothing, you’ll imagine either pure black or pure white. I imagine the difference between nihilism and monism in no less certain terms. If you imagine grey, you’re in trouble.

I obsess over monomaniacs. I admire their focus and conversational limitation. Knowing nothing, I parrot their words and miss the singular essence. There is a transparent veil of sanity keeping me from myself – I am divided, looking through from each side with longing.

I don’t remember your name, but I remember your words and the color of your dress. I was no match for your violet. I never saw your gray.

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed