Three-Fourths of a Color Wheel

by Jacynth Apora

“I drive fast, I am alone at midnight”
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“I just ride, I just ride”
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          I got toothpaste stains on a blue sweatshirt still warm from a dryer—I’m trying to start again—You can identify someone by teeth in a fire—I’m trying to start again—Blood on a white coffee mug—I’m trying to start again—I’m trying to wrap a Band-Aid around my thumb—there are wounds to mend.

          I don’t even want the sky, I just want the serifs to slightly levitate off the ground.
Dreams of vivid laughter before a gray slumber
Miracle of fish immaculate and muted
Plate of sardines shiny and sordid
          I’d rather bleed and not be nursed but be the object of scorn than have flakes of dead skin like a rose’s thorn—flakes of moldy cereal give me an appetite—I’m surprised you have the softest face—cruelty is in the most unexpected place—perchance you frown at a fairy tale we never wrote—of course not, I see what I want to see when we say hello.
          I create what was destined by the accident and the inaccuracies in the surreal.
Wasting every second
Recounting how I spent it
If I don’t sleep I could delay
My last days

Turn the reds to blue, won’t you?

Cherry chastity
Cranberry coffee cake
Apple-mango cider
Orange juice
Yellow yelling
Sour apple simplicity
Forest green reality
Blueberry blood
Blue eyes blue mind blue lies blue bride
          Detached violets give me a snide—Why is that inevitable?—So avoidable, grand and gradual, painstakingly eventual—

“Don’t say goodbye”
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“Leave me high and dry”
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