The Color of Memory
Oh the air, cool to cold to dark, in the sky: police
agitate the faces into oblivion. A feeling of silence, a lot.
With the right words a good feeling can be dropped -- the pistol -- a
all my own.
When the rent is due I start to "reign in" my spending. I laugh
a bit in the darkness of my spankings.
A look of real life altitude, zenith, punishment.
I spray my eggs into a cauldron of lice.
Ice pancakes, a thinking person's attitude of corn.
Little brown notebook, little brown meat, swimming meat (that's me)
floating in the subway and dizzy in the air (water).
When the wind blows: a hiccup, the cool portion of charm
when a neighbor sobs or when the water makes a faint rainbow
surface bubble: clothing is good for the spirit of remembrance.
I cringe and then I celebrate with gloom and doom. My efforts, how stained
with light they are, how bold when nothing occurs but powder and day.
poem by Todd Colby