...With much ancestral barking, and
loaded quieting, the ghosts sat down
to paint.
Color renounced the spectrum...
blanching their translucent shrouds
as the firmament flailed maniacally,
bludgeoning the telltale signs of lives
painted by number.
A fractal engorged upon itself...the
ghosts foisted their vision.
As refracted tunnel lights upon the
cyclopic eye of a subway train...from
front to rear.
Went through both ends of The Tunnel,
broad daylight...broadening, and
broadening--till the ghosts sat down to
paint...tethered color snapped loose.