“draw me a picture,”
lonesome on the page:
eyes tired and drooping,
the scent of sage.

the thing about color and the thing about
lines

is that there are final, when they are on paper.

They stick in your head
and you can’t stop seeing them:
the pavement is born red
and the apple born blue.
I’m going insane
from all these shades
but life still seems so dull
in comparison to
the gateway
into my mind:

for class, we drew
and for class, we had fun
and for class, we were so innocent
and for class, we just
for class
for class

it doesn’t feel real yet.