Existing Between the Tones

Tonal and blatant, a victim to the blind.

Where is the color…so wise, so deep?

Where is the color…so kind?

I search for vibrant signs.

Bland and distant,

a pillaged village is what I find.

A river will rise and bergs of ice will sink.

Leaving in it’s wake…visions less distinct.

A sky so blue discolored by sight.

that Which is not Blurred

‘What of the permanent anchor?  To the weight, we all must bear!  The cloaked mystery of our destiny?  No matter how rural a thought!  Sameness, be the only play on words…

Defining moments!  Infinity, obscured.  When color becomes that which is not blurred!’



the Imperfect Weight of Color


Caught the eye of a stray color…

passing by!

Had to hold down the thought.

Put a handle to the feel.


What of this homeless rainbow fray?

Is it the recurring nightmare that calls to be heard?

To be written down frantically?
As thou, it were a spy?
Free expression?
A matter of…
do or die!
What of?
Those drawn to flowery phases?
It is,
after all,
Some of the
tastiest samples…
to ever taste.
Defining the art of humans
their waste.
A restless fisherman
his pole…
both dangling out in the cold.
Relocated visions that have no home.
Welfare of many out in the woods.
Each of which…
rummaging around under mother nature’s hood.
I wonder how a colorless weight must feel?
Lost in hectic, translation.
It must lose some conformed appeal.