(please note that line shaping is not put to effect)


Yes. I can
tell that your
colors
are broken.

Yes. the green and white
of your one good eye
make
a pretty O
make April
suffocate.

This, that. words
are pretty —but “pretty”
means nothing
to you at all
“Sont des mots qui vont tres bein ensemble—“ Yes?

Tell me what
color my
voice
is now. Listen
to the tock
tick
tink
tonk
of my prêt
ty head.

Yes. I wound up the bolt
like the manual says:
“use canola oil when
Stuck.
tuck.
uck.
(ok doesn’t rhyme)

Yes. light up
the streetlamp
in that corner
with my cigarette butt. No not
that one Not that one either

Yes. that one. Mercibeaucoup.
Here. here’s
a paper bag
from MacDonald on the
Village. take it
make a lovable collage out of
broken words
and grease stains
let me
crumple them up.
they might make
an eyeball yet.

Yes. I want to
taste
your colors;
damaged.
let me
lick.
the cracked debris on my tongue
I’ll smear
against the palate
for life. hard. soft; now
breathe

Yes. yes. can you
hear? tell me
what color my voice
feels
now.
Yes.
now.