Poetry: Colors

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Shedding the silence of cocoon,

Sputtering in light-sucking street color,

Drenched in hormones, fluttering between limos

And losers in the great city, landing on a pay phone

Out of breath …

Aching for colors—pregnant moon, sunset tides,

Subterranean rose—your voice always filled me with colors,

Delirious colors—but when you picked up the phone

I heard only the lowest tones of the piano,

Distorted, ungraspable, building with fury

To catclaw dissonance.

For while I had been frantically recreating myself,

You’d been busy in the projection room,

Shattering my image into a thousand pieces of you.

©2011 Robert Morrow

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