I wait by the tree.
primally suspended, momentarily upended
watching them and listening (so as not to hear).
And being watched, remain.
Lurid life and lucid dreams.
My eyes are open,
but I don't want to see what I see anymore
so I sleep when I can.
Eight hours in darkness, 16 in color.
That's the prescribed amount.
The doses change, push and pull, they drain from one another.
It gets dark.
It gets cold.
the colors spike, then they fade.
Blue and red, and yellow and purple, and pink and orange, and green, especially green, become gray. Brown. Black. White.
When they finally go, the people become the most colorful thing here.
On the outside, you find black and white.
But on the inside, I can never tell. A million colors at once forbidden to my perception.
They fight like day and night.
Black and White.
black. white.
Day out. Day in.
It’ll all still be here in the morning.
Our road comes to an end but we pretend it’s longer than it is.
We see one another on the road.
We wave (sometimes)
We hide (often)
We feel (so much)
We love
We hate
misappropriate
misinterpret.
We see what we want to see.
We are colorful things
who can't see their true colors.
