technicolor

January 25, 2011

technicolor

hospital white, blinding fluorescent lights:

you can’t see the dusky boardwalk outside,

it’s too bright in here.

they wash out the acrylic t-shirt designs

hanging on the far wall, the shelves

with glass globes of smiling sapphire dolphins diving,

the shiny silver plastic toy guns with fire-orange triggers.

everything drowned out, overwhelmed

by the rushing tide of stark, shallow white.

a string of flowers in my hand, all chemical,

a fabricated, fabric lei.

burn copper, you get the emerald;

sulfur gives you the acid blue.

but not here.

here, it’s all

sparking magnesium white.