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