A Drag?

May 5, 2011 § Leave a comment

Twenty-four days and counting…going…going…

I have this ache: purple.

Remember last week I went out and came home with purple sheets and purple paint. If you don’t I do.

Funny the things I do. Funnier the things I don’t.

They stole my bicycle. I sat on the library lawn and picked petals from my corsage.

‘Tell him. Tell him not. Tell him.’

Well, it’s hardly likely now that you’ve received a blaring white anxious blip of a message telling you about sexual sustenance.

Needs. And implications.

And me- one stubborn streak of a wee’un.

World grant me strength.

I -I watch the spin and turn- have washed you from a galaxy of tar.

This is giving colour.

My hands keep cutting themselves on things I can’t imagine, because I’ve stopped writing.

Will it come back to me?

Are there things I need?

I get god. I get need. I get that you are muddled in the middle.

If there are scars I can’t see, neither than I kiss them better with this colour.

It’s May, morning, and it’s raining.

But it’s not purple, it’s a milky white sheen on an indigo road. It came so close.

Being purple is a drag.


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