Yellow spheres are terror to the daydreamers
whirling past faces disgraces grazing ears
Recollections of multipurpose room taunts
And Mr. Neptune's rolled eyes as he gives up

Just send me to my fortress of books n poetry
Let me slip away unnoticed and forgotten
between the blue carpet and shelves inside
Let me bang my head on the laminated particle board

I disappear in here where it's just me and three thousand years
floating historically through black & white epochs
Alone, the world is heavy but not so much as my feet
planted and feigning mobility as roots become weeds

I think how dumb it is to talk of my Soul or to sing in the shower
or my car or alone in my apartment with stereo blasting
It's strange how the red is everywhere and I can't imagine
any longer when I'll finally need to draw a line

For you are not with me as I am with me and I'm green
But I can't say if it's in my stomach or in my eyes
And despite the heaviness I feel like I could be swept away
I could flutter up like one of those winglike seeds in Spring

Heaven is no place outside either, and I suddenly remember
That this all started with a love for the color orange
And I realize the silliness of red and yellow by themselves,
still wondering if I am bathed or baked in the warmth.

Brilliant, mellow, warm light, the elephant grass lifts its emerald green swords  waving slowly  in the  dancing wind. An amber red  atlas moth with its owl-eye wings glides along the blades with exhilarating pride.

Amids the elephant grass a sliver whispering stream. The moth deeps it feet to take a taste , skipping along the  cool silky surface with grace.

Bright, crimson heat. The elephant grass bends their rusty blades in retreat. A stagnant pool sits among decaying roots where a winglike creature bows lifelessly still. Diaphanous kites of spider mesh hugging tightly for the ****.

All in the tentacles of time.