"Color Chart."
Black egg, black shirt, black Wyoming sky.
Blackout with white lightning.
Blackout with snow.
Black TV in hotel at night.
Brown eyes like pine trees, or so I wrote.
Molasses.
Blackguard.
His necklace.
His knees.
Purple is an explosion in me.
Red quilt. Nocturnal visits like some wanted crime scene.
Red never fully.
Red as a destination.
Dark blue, only less vibrant.
Blue as the child's sweater and snap up cowgirl shirt.
Blue as my mother's underwear, squares of pale nylon or silk,
such as girls don't wear nowadays or ever.
Blue as the room in the chateau.
The blue of imminent.
The blue of expansion.
This blue.
Blue as her eyes, as the china left by the dead.
Green this and that.
Green everything in the book.
Why so much inordinate green?
Delete the green.
Make the green toward.
Green of absence.
Green of never.
Green of not any more.
Green of fucked up bullshit.
Green of complaint.
Green howling when it comes up out of nowhere on a road
through little green.
Green of elsewhere and again.
Yellow funny dress photograph.
Fake look.
Fake pearls.
Yellow tablecloth.
Yellow background for self-portrait.
I can be here and not this.
The pale yellow of my room.
The room I later painted.
The room we painted together.
The other room.
The room my parents painted.
The lost rooms.
The complete.
The taupe, the beige, the tan.
Khaki pants.
My boyfriend's pants, bargaining.
Me, a tan clown and two big boots.
The khaki of all that, and the way
it just disappeared afterward like--; the white pretty.
The white I wore to my father's wedding.
The white that is not at hospitals.
The white of the cat and the flame.
The white of the page.
The white surrounding my hands.
The white when you can't see.
The white that is black.
The white folded.
The white fallen away.
The white surrounding the iris.
The confusion of white, clustering.
The white of an airplane ticket slipped into a black pocket.
The white of the broken ocean and the white bunny.
Three other colors-- pears, coins, drinks.