A turn at the rosey corner,
A swipe on the blue.
Not now;
Not in this place.
Brush--Slather the blotched red.
Heating the frame.
Not this minute.
Not this time.
Tint with yellow--light!
Please, wipe the gray.
No.
Not today.
"I lost my colors in the sandbox.
The pretty ones.
I have one left."
Never us.
Posted by Amanda Cochran at February 16, 2004 7:07 PMIt's crazy! I have no clue what it is about, and I love it. I don't know where to start on it's meaning, tell me about it. All I see is the sky, but I have a feeling that's not what you saw in this poem. Freakin' Awsome.
Posted by: Puff at February 17, 2004 11:25 PMPuff, this may take some time. Maybe on Thursday before Lit I can break it down for you. I have stumped the poet! YAY! :-D
Posted by: Amanda at February 18, 2004 10:19 AM