Late hours when the night is in its closing,
are best savoured alone, silent, on an empty street.
The light, prequel to morning, is a thoughtful green--
the colour of calm before a tornado.
When the street is empty, the pavement relaxes like a lean
muscle, given a brief respite from the burden of feet and wheels,
moist and cool after the heat of the day.
I walk down the yellow line, middle of the road,
and wonder what I would do,
if I saw headlights.
Because I'm alone and no one's coming now.
But I won't let that bother me.
Because late hours are best savoured alone,
on the empty street,
when anyone could run me down
and I just
Red is red.
Firetruck red. P
is purple.
Purple is purple.
Yellow is lemon yellow
& deep blue & plums.
Green is brown.
It's complicated.
Rape is red, & then bruised,
pulsating purple.
Rape feels like a rape. Quandary
tastes like guacamole,
not for any reason,
but she really likes guacamole.
A buzzing in her room burns
in her hand. Like a metal object
taken out of a microwave.
She can't sleep
in her room. No one else
can hear the sound. No one else
is able to feel
the sound she feels.
My name is Willow and I'm not really poetic. I'm not an artist. The truth is that I love art, I am crazy about art. Hence, I joined DA. I also like the idea of llamas!